HuHair? (that’s what I want to know)

I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE for the hair in your food. These locks may have a mind of their own, but they certainly did not make their way into your yaki-shitty. 

Being that this establishment is, “a buffet” (for lack of better terminology), I am going to assume that those loyal patrons perusing through the “buffet” line have hair on their heads, that does, in fact, fall off of their head on occasion. 

That in mind, please note that I am not going to take it to my liberty (though as much as I would enjoy) to personally request that each customer wear a hair net while pillaging. If you would like to do so, be our guest, but don’t tell me I didn’t fucking accommodate you. I don’t run this place, I just allow it’s grease to soak into my skin and ensure the Jasmine tea is suitable to your liking.

And BY THE WAY, I waited on your table with a goddamn nosebleed. A nosebleed! As in there was a “substantial amount” of blood coming from my nose when you claimed there was a “substantial amount” of hair in your food. Look lady, we’ve got nothing to hide. I mean, our grill is in the center of the room, what more do you want? The discount lies within the manager. I, on the other hand, am here to assure you that a strangers’ hair never killed anyone, life goes on, and for the love of Pete, go back up to said “buffet” line and make a new plate of slop already. Geezus.

Bite me.

Sincerely,

Lover, fighter, loather of table 15

This is how the food business makes me feel sometimes: frustrated.

And I am not an angry person, generally speaking. I am a happy person!

Argh.