Dear waitresses who served me in high school,

I am so sorry. I didn’t know any better.

We were young and stupid and loud and obnoxious. We probably never tipped, or if we did it was in small change that we just left on the table in an annoying heap. It was probably worse than nothing. We stayed for hours, we were loud, we didn’t order very much, we were demanding and took up a lot of space. I think we must have thought of you as some weird combination between a vending machine and the lunch ladies at school–someone who existed to give us food in exchange for money and occasionally complain that we were breaking rules or being disruptive.

In our defense, we were in high school. We hadn’t really learned that the world around us existed. I mean, we knew, on some level, but it seemed like remote knowledge–like knowing that Mt. Everest exists. I’ve never seen it. I can’t conceptualize it. It’s out there and I know it and I believe it and on most levels I just don’t care.

I know better now. We all do. We’re nice to waitresses these days. In Seattle they actually liked seeing us because we were fun and tipped nicely and gave them someone to talk to. I appreciate that you have jobs that are demanding and often filled with annoying people and I try to be as pleasant as possible. I know that doesn’t make what we did any better, but I hope it helps to know that I’ve learned my lesson, and I wish I could make it up to you somehow.

Sadly sincerely,

Rob Mason