A waitress’s open letter to the oh-so-seductive customer who manhandled her has gone viral. I should excerpt it but the whole thing is so fantastic, I’m reprinting it here in full:
Dear Brian, You came into the restaurant where I work and ordered a Stoli on the rocks. When I asked you and your companion if you’d be eating, or needing anything else from me, you put your hand — ever so gently — ON MY ASS and asked if you could take me “to go”. When I immediately stepped away and said “Sorry, what?” you probably gathered that I was and am not receptive of such advances from customers. We were in a family-friendly restaurant, around 6:30pm, and I was wearing a loose-fitting, long sleeve shirt, jeans, and no makeup…so I’m not sure where the confusion arose as to what kind of service you were being provided. You left soon after, leaving a signed credit card slip and a two dollar tip (see picture included!). Your name is Brian Lederman. I found you, instantly, via a quick Google search online. I looked at your face on Linked In, the World’s Largest Professional Network. You work at Swiss Performance Management and Truehand AG, in Investment Management. Of course you do.
I work as a bartender, and have for more than five years now. I graduated NYU with honors, and have at some point held down every conceivable part time type job including but not limited to food service, administration, and even temp work at firms such as yours. So far, bartending allows me the most flexibility to pursue my artistic career, while comfortably covering my basic living expenses, including my outrageously high student loan payments. I have a good job that I’m grateful for. The environment is low key, I have incredibly supportive coworkers and managers, and — in general — the clientele is nice. But I still hate being a bartender.
Over the years my knowledge and skill set have expanded, but I seem to be getting worse at tolerating the “service” part. I deal with incredible amounts of entitlement, condescension, and drunk nonsense And at a bar, it is impossible to ignore the fact that misogyny is alive and well. I can’t tell you how many times people have treated me horribly and I’ve memorized or photographed the names from their credit cards, fantasizing about internet revenge. But every time I’ve been tempted in the past (even after verbal attacks, physical affronts, or sexual harassment) I’ve stopped myself and let it go.
So congratulations, Brian! You’ve done it! You broke this tired ass camel’s back. And though this is obviously a public shaming, I truly don’t mean this as an attack. Maybe — just maybe — via the intimately connected internet world, my post will reach you, and you’ll learn something about how hurtful and upsetting a small comment or gesture might be. Or at the very least, maybe a Facebook passerby will read this and more deeply consider how they treat women, how they treat servers, and/or how they treat other people in general. And thank you. Without your inspiration I wouldn’t be quitting my job today, and endeavoring a better chapter of my life.
p.s. Everyone else — please be kind to your server. If your drink took a while, it might just be because your bartender was rage crying about misogyny in the bathroom. Also because if you’re not nice to her, she just might memorize the name from your credit card, find you online, hunt you down, and pee in your bed while you’re sleeping.
p.p.s. I’m looking for work to sustain me until all of my acting dreams come true! Something that requires only 30ish flexible hours a week and that covers NYC rent and NYU student loan payments. Open to all ideas and input.
Raising eyebrows further, Lederman then proceeded to unleash a torrent of threats against Ramadei, via the Post: “That f–king c–t, for her to do something like that is pretty ridiculous…. I will make sure she doesn’t get another job in New York City. I know everybody…. The bar owners, the club owners — that’s a terrible thing to write about somebody.”
The truthis indeed a terrible thing to write about somebody, when somebody has revealed themselves to be basically as bad as Saddam Hussein. “That f — king c — t,” huh? That’s what they call women on the Sopranos before they shoot them. Also, please note that this waitress felt the need to tell us what she was wearing when she was sexually harassed on the job for the final time. Lest we worry that she was “asking for it.”