To the blonde, bitchy waitress at a certain well-known establishment: I could hear you. I could hear you after you took my order and called me an “uppity bitch” because I asked for a side of bacon with my cheese omelet and you didn’t know how to charge me for it. I watched you on the floor in full veil as you whinged to your less than enthusiastic co worker, waving my order around angrily and actually pointing at me. “I will get her hot chocolate for now at least. Guess she doesn't like coffee.” Then when you come with my "cheese" omelet; it’s oozing with not cheese...but a plastic-like cousin tasting like cheeze. The Whiz kind. "Here, this is for you. I hope...you enjoy it." No smile, nothing. Just that sharp, Russian accent shadowing her true meaning. Did she spit in it? What? Well, I'll tell you, this morning I had the shit bullets from hell. I wonder why? —Breakfast is ruined.