Nothing says you care about customer service like scolding and lecturing them about which pronouns they’re allowed to use while in your restaurant giving you MONEY. The last thing I’m looking for when eating out is some patchouli-smelling, angsty harpy getting angry at me for using ‘he or she’ when they identify as a leprechaun.

Or whatever floats their boat that day.

‘Welcome to Woke As A Joke Eatery, I’m your server, Avocado Toast, and I identify as it/unicorn. Can I get you something to drink you cis-normative, evil, white woman?’

Yeah, no thanks.

And to think, this is REAL LIFE.

Keep your damn pronouns. I just want a Diet Coke.

My favorite rule is the one suggesting you call your server ‘buddy.’ No. They’re not my buddy. They’re the person who brings me extra napkins and asks my kids if they’re interested in dessert so I can be the bad guy and say NO.

And isn’t buddy sort of male-centric?

I don’t know about you guys, but the rules around all of this just get more and more insane.

That could work.

Right?! I am always wondering if the waiter/waitress is struggling with their sexual identity while I’m ordering chimichangas from them.

Totally.

I’d just get in trouble.

Wouldn’t be the first time …

That could work. The term itself is very gender-fluid and fits most anyone.

Disco.

Seriously.

FYI, I identify as ‘that’s stupid/get a life’ – in case you were wondering.

PS: Epstein didn’t kill himself.