Waiters - Why Do They Bother Speaking?

I’ve just about had it with people in the service industry. I eagerly anticipate the age of robotic service and murdered waiters that is sure to immediately follow the Singularity. I haven’t always held such hateful sentiments towards the subdivision of the working class I’m forced to deal with anytime I enter a store, restaurant, or (God forbid) airport. Recently though things have gotten seriously out of hand.
Last week I found myself eating dinner in a sensibly priced restaurant. Who I was with, why I was there, and what I ordered are all immaterial, so put your curiosity to bed. The evening started out nicely enough – I was brought a Coke with the right amount of ice, the silverware appeared clean, and the establishment’s lighting was sufficient. However, things started to unravel when our server – a veritable wall of terror – first addressed the table.
Usually I hate to waste time on details describing people who do not deserve to be alive, but in order to really explain how awful this waitress was a brief rundown of her physical appearance is necessary. Imagine, if you will, a gazebo that has had pillows taped all over it, covering every exterior surface. You have just imagined the woman I had to deal with that evening. It was bad enough that she was hideous (you no doubt already know how I feel about ugly people), but things only got worse when she began to speak. Her voice sounded like a pig that had swallowed Fran Drescher whole, and that was now squealing and crying because the actress was both kicking and laughing inside the animal’s stomach. It was like having daggers of sound driven into my ears as this disgrace to gazebos everywhere described the specials of the night.
This brings me to another issue I have with waiters everywhere. It makes no sense to tell me the specials of the evening after I’ve already sat down at the table. Anyone who knows me and who knows how to live their life should be entirely aware that having a clear plan of action for all things is the most important thing ever (ever!). As such I arrive at a restaurant entirely certain of what it is I want to eat. If the restaurant doesn’t have the dish I desire I walk right out, and if the waiters at the restaurant assume that I’m some kind of foresight-blind rube who can’t make a plan by handing me a menu and rattling off a list of specials (that inevitably contain mango-something) I become quietly enraged.
Waiters, servers, busboys, Maître d's, valets, and other assorted restaurant-type employees, take note: please do not talk to me unless there is a very good reason – like to inform me that my meal is gratis, because I deserve it.

Ugly People on the T - Shouldn't They Just Walk?

We’ve all been there: you’re riding the Red Line en route to somewhere wonderful – like the movies – and all of a sudden life gets a whole lot more terrible. The cause of this terrible? An ugly person has just boarded your subway car. This is the sort of thing that always happens, usually at throwaway stops like Central or Charles MGH. I don’t know about you, but I hate having to look at ugly people, and one really isn’t given much choice when boxed up in a rattling subway car full of hideousness.
“But Guiles” you say, “ugly people are people too.” Dear admirer you are incorrect. Admittedly ugly people are people inasmuch as they walk around on two legs (sometimes), consume food, have dreams, and read TV Guide. But they differ from Attractive People in a very important way: they’re fucking awful to witness. I swear to God, in this era of sue-happy Americans I’m surprised that nobody’s yet leveled a suit at these public-transportation-using abominations. Think of the damages – emotional, physical (throwing up after seeing an ugly person is an example of physical damages), and spiritual.
I feel that the spiritual repercussions of seeing ugly people are the most significant. If – God willing – you’re like me you’re a staunch believer in a benevolent/extremely vengeful God. Obviously this God loves me (what’s not to love?) and wants me to be a happy guy. Why then would he create creatures of such offensive appearance? Simply by existing these people are waging a hard-to-look-at war on one of my many Constitutionally Protected Freedoms (CPF’s), and quite frankly I just can’t handle this. I realize I can’t just ask ugly people to stop existing, especially with the economy in the state it’s in, but I can ask that they politely find other means of getting from point A to point B, means that don’t involve me having to lay eyes on them. Honestly ugly people, just walk. Do it for me. Do it for the Gource.