To the Judgmental Waiter Who Thinks I’m Ordering Too Much Food

This is an open letter to every judgmental waiter who gives me and Jason that look when we tell him or her what we want to order. (Yes, it’s happened on enough occasions that I feel an open letter is necessary. And yes, I realize I’m trying to lose weight for the 2012 season. Back up off me, beeyotch. I likes me some food.)

Dear Judgmental Waiter Who Thinks I’m Ordering Too Much Food,

First of all, I appreciate your concern for my well-being as well as your doubt that I can successfully cram such a large quantity of food down my gullet. I can see how you would underestimate my ability to pack in the calories, seeing as how I’m of average height and somewhat thin/athletic build and not some sort of morbidly obese hobgoblin who rolled in on a Rascal scooter and prodded you with a fork I brought from home while wearing an old food-stained bib I got from an Old Country Buffet six years ago.

However, I need to educate you on a few things so that you will stop giving me that “Are you seriously ordering this much food” look:

1. My mom is Korean; therefore, I know how to eat.

Koreans love to eat. The only thing they love more than food itself is watching their kids pig out; thus, my mother’s greatest joy is simultaneously stuffing bulgogi and rice in my mouth while scowling that I’ve gained too much weight (except for recently, where now she alternates asking me what I’m making for dinner and telling me not to lose too much weight or I’ll become “ann-o-reck-she-uh”). Therefore, despite my size and stature, I have an uncanny ability to eat a ridiculous amount of food. It’s how I grew up–Momma didn’t raise no dainty eater. Although my boyfriend is 6’4″ and 200 lbs, when he and I order dishes to share at a restaurant, we actually do split the food 50/50, which is highly disproportionate considering our weight and caloric intake differentials. To put it quite bluntly, I am a pig. A shameless, ravenous pig. If I don’t restrain myself, I could easily polish off enough food to put a Biggest Loser contestant to shame.

2. I worked out for four hours today.

Not only am I a glutton, I’m also a (somewhat mediocre) endurance athlete; thus, chances are I’ve done 2-8 hours of grueling workouts earlier in the day and am freakin’ starving. I’ve burned thousands of calories and now my body wants some of them back. So thank you for the eye roll and the silent judgment that I’m probably bulimic. I’m not puking, I just want something other than Powerbar Perform and gels in my stomach, for crying out loud.

3. In case you forgot, I’m paying you for all this food.

You’re not bringing this shit to me for free, for crying out loud. I understand the basic concept of a restaurant–I pay for the food you make and bring to me, whether or not I actually consume it (I will though, because my inner fat kid is crying for something that’s been cooked in butter). It’s not like I’m going to take one dainty little nibble, push the rest away, and hold my belly, exclaiming, “Ohhhhhh, I’m so full. I’m not paying for the rest of this!” If I don’t eat it all (which is rare), I’ll take the leftovers home. Either way, it shouldn’t matter to you since you’re getting money from me whether I eat it all, throw it on the ground, or build Close Encounters-esque towers with it.

4. I realize how much food I’m ordering because a) I’m not an idiot, and b) I want to fucking eat it all, otherwise I wouldn’t order it.

You know why I’m ordering this much food? It’s not to be a dick, it’s because all of this stuff sounds good and I want it in my bellah, stat. I can’t tell you how many times a waiter has doubted that Jas and I will finish the gigantic amount of food we ordered, only to be surprised when they return and clear empty plates. I know what I’m doing. This ain’t my first dog and pony show–I’m gonna order a crapton of food, eat it all, feel miserably full and loathe myself, work out for four hours the next day, and then feel better when I step on the scale and see that everything’s evened out. It’s a typical cycle, so get used to it.

5. I could do without the attitude, and you could subsequently do with a nicer tip.

When you come back to my table after the meal is done and sneer, “Can I get you something else? More food, perhaps?”, two things run through my head. #1 is yeah, I could probably eat more food but I’m gonna have to draw the line somewhere. #2 is that I can hear the condescending tone in your voice and haven’t left your tip yet, so how about you save the shit talking for after I leave. Or better yet, forget the shit talking and just marvel that a skinny woman just ate more than the adjacent table of four and left you a better tip than they did.

In conclusion, Judgmental Waiter Who Thinks I’m Ordering Too Much Food, while I appreciate your concern, I know what I’m doing so let me pig out in peace and keep the water refills coming. A full, unjudged Becca is a happy Becca, and a happy Becca tips over 20% and comes back for more food at a later date.

Gluttonously yours,
Mediocre Athlete