Have you noticed the trend of young people demanding instead of requesting? Maybe it comes with the sense of entitlement 90s children have. Perhaps they were spoiled by Mommy and Daddy’s portfolio fattening during the decades of excess. Whatever the reason, these brats need to learn we old-timers don’t react well to demands.
Take this scenario: You’re unhappy with the steak the server just delivered. It’s overcooked and tastes like your grandfather’s belt. If you’re over 50—old like me—you’ll react differently than someone recently off his skateboard. The child will throw a tantrum, demean the server, chef, and establishment, and demand retribution. This may result in a refund, but it most definitely will result in a dozen people thinking, What a douchebucket! If that steak is replaced, it will contain foreign substances such as spit, pubic hair, and floor dust.
The wise sage isn’t starved for attention. He knows he can capture more bears with honey. His disappointment with the meal will be apparent, but not exaggerated.
“Gosh, I really love this place. Your chef is so talented. I just wish this were a bit pinker. Guess I should have ordered it medium-rare.”
The server will go out of his way to remove that disappointment. The sage will get another steak and a complimentary dessert. Whereas the brat will likely stiff the server, the sage will raise that gratuity into the 20-25 percent range, thus rewarding and encouraging good behavior.
This applies to almost anything. Any sentence that begins with, “You need to …” makes my middle finger twitch. We mustn’t give in to the demands of adult infants, lest we encourage their silliness.
I’ve had similar issues with young women. One delicacy somehow made it to dawn. My morning wood rose with the sun. I kissed her neck and introduced my sword subtly by spooning and poking. Her response?
“I’m not wet.”
“You need to go down on me.”
Now, there’s one thing worse than morning breath, and that’s morning vag. (I just lost 95% of my female readers while my brethren nod their silent acknowledgment of my clumsy stance.) It’s not like I’ve never given a good breakfast-in-bed licking. I simply felt her demand would have served better as a request, or a challenge, even. Yet, I went down on her. Boner beats logic.
Another way to handle these demanding folks is to cry, faint, or call them funny names. For instance, instead of calling the bartender an ornery cunt, try “frosted cupcake.” Her reaction will be confusion and bewilderment. Only you know what your “frosted cupcake” is. Instead of dealing with gasps, finger-pointing, and an angry bouncer, you’ll deal with a blank stare. If she doesn’t snap out of it, don’t call her a twat waffle—try, “gummy bear.” See that? A kinder, gentler patron enjoys stiffer drinks.
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