Dear People of Moldova:
On behalf of all visitors to Provincetown, Massachusetts, I would like to thank you. Thank you for your heterosexuality, thank you for your willingness to reproduce, and thank you for sending your tall, stunning, athletic, poreless, hairless sons and daughters to Cape Cod to work behind the counters at Commercial Street’s coffee shops, coffee houses, coffee stands, coffee bars, and cafes. The mochaccinolattefrappenitas would flow far slower without them.
Before you send over the next batch of beautifully built baristas, may I suggest running them through your local outpost of Mrs. Margaret Mitchell’s Finishing School and Customer Service Training Academy? Because what plays well in Chişinău comes across as a surly on this side of The Pond.
Look, I understand that customers can be jerks, and I know that vacationers in resort towns can be even worse. I worked French Connection on Decatur Street in New Orleans’ French Quarter: I am well aware.
I’m not asking for your sons and daughters to greet me every morning with a smile and politely ask to wipe my ass. (Although I wouldn’t complain if the guy down at Wired Puppy made such overtures. Something to pass along.) All I’m saying is, I have to deal with K&B attitude 51 weeks a year, and I would enjoy a little break.
Now, please continue your rabbit-like banging.