Look, it’s nothing personal.

I’m sure you’re a perfectly fine person. But I don’t want you in my bar. Period.

I know what you’re going to say.

“But Teena, you’re a waitress. You work for tips. Don’t you want more tourists to come in?”

I’m not stupid. I do need your money. I need it to pay the climbing rent on my one-bedroom far out in the outskirts—because the city I grew up in priced _me_ out years ago. I do need your money. But I don’t want to serve you. And when I do, you’ll feel it—every forced word, every glance that lands just short of eye contact. I won’t smile, I won’t say thank you, and I sure as hell won’t pretend to be glad you’re here.

I’ll take your order, yes. But later, I’ll pick it apart with the other staff. I’ll roll my eyes about it with my friends over cheap beers at 1 a.m.

And just in case you’re not the observant type—the kind who thinks “Maybe she treats everyone like this”—I’ll make it obvious. I’ll be all warmth and laughter with my regulars. The ones who stumble in after a double shift at another bar down the street, after serving you your watered-down cocktails and limp fries.

They know I see them. They see me too.

You, though? You tip 20% like it’s a personal gift, then pat yourself on the back for being so generous. You think you’re supporting the local economy. But what you’re really doing is showing off. Diamond studs. Pristine designer sneakers. Not a hair out of place. You’re here for the experience, right? You order a cheap beer, thinking it makes you “real.” You wink, like we’re all in on the same joke. You’re not fooling anyone.

I’ll be here long after you’ve crossed this city off your little list.

This is my home. My life.

You? You’ll take your selfies, leave your review, and fly off to whatever overpriced “authentic” place is next. You’ll keep consuming spaces like mine until there’s nothing left but repackaged charm and beige menus translated into five languages.

So yeah, enjoy the shitty service.

Be grateful I served you at all.

And when you leave—because you will—don’t come back.

But go ahead. Leave a review on TripAdvisor.

Tell them Teena was rude.

Tell them the beer was cold, the service colder.

Tell them the waitress made you feel unwelcome.

Good. That means I did it right.