Dear Middle Aged Man

I know I'm new, and only have been working here for a week, and maybe you think I'm one of those difficult people for already having a problem, but I have a problem. It's you.

You, the middle aged man with your gold chains, leather jacket, heavy cologne, and the big flirty smile and touchy hands.

Why are you flirting with me? I'm sixteen. I have a boyfriend. He's not Joey Buttafuco - he's a real boyfriend, in high school. Like I am. Why are you flirting with me? Why do you do things just to see if you can get away with them - like when you press up against me during the dinner rush to ask how soon I'll be calling your name?

You almost touched my ass last night, and you don't know it but I almost kneed you in the balls. Touch my ass, and I'll do it. When you put your hand on my back to get my attention that's fine - it's loud, it's crowded, I'm distracted. But sliding your hand under my shirt to touch the skin on my back? No. I'm not too distracted to notice that.

Why do grownup men do this? I see your wives noticing. Oh, you didn't know I knew you were married? I do - I'm not stupid. And why do you smile at me like that? I'm NOT going to like you. YOU ARE OLD! That's GROSS! And no, don't flash your iPhone at me - that doesn't make you cool.

Why are you flirting with me? What do you think is going to happen? I'm not going to hook up with some grownup man just because you have a cool pinky ring. Oh and to the guy who flashed your wad of cash at me, like I'd be impressed? I've seen that trick before - that was a TEN wrapped around ONES. My boyfriend really IS rich and not ONCE have I ever seen him flash money at people.

When you massage my neck while spelling your name into my ear (and by the way, I know how to spell Tony, but thanks) it doesn't make me like you. It makes me want to manipulate the tables to seat you by the bathroom or the kitchen, or put you at the table that has the waitress who picks her nose.

Oh, and please don't waste your best lines on me. When I ask for your name, I don't care what it is. So don't tell me, "Tony, but my friends call me Anthony. YOU can call me Anthony if you want, I'd like to be your friend" because I just write down "Tonysmalldick" on my pad of paper to amuse myself.

When you leaned against the wall and flexed your muscles at me, I was not impressed. You were blocking the way for a pregnant woman who you almost elbowed in the boobs. I love pregnant women. Fuck with them and you're fucking with me. And for god's sake - tell the overdressed-for-a-diner woman you brought with you to stand up on her retardedly high heels to let the pregnant woman sit down!

Stop grinning at me like that. YOU ARE OLD! YOU WEAR TOO MUCH ETERNITY! I don't understand why grown men are flirting with me. It's so gross.

To the nice black man who was eating alone and asked me for the check because you were in a rush - I don't mean you. You're fine.

And to the spanish boys who tried to talk me up when you got there - sorry I was short with you, it was busy - and to the one of you who asked if I was dating anyone, it was sweet when you looked crushed when I answered yes. I don't mean you guys either. I didn't even mind that you called me "mami" - I knew how you meant it.

If you want me to like you, accept that I am NEVER going to hook up with a grownup and talk to me like I'm a person and not ... not ... something to be conquered. And for fuck's sake - stop wearing so much Drakkar!