Dear Valet

Dear Valet,
No, this isn’t about my car. Let’s be honest. I think you and I both know that I wouldn’t be able to afford your services… which kinda made you sound like a prostitute, my bad. No, this is more about the stink-eye that you give me every time I walk past your posh restaurant.
If it were between you and me, I wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near it either. Actually, allow me to clarify. It wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near me. See, I was late to the neighborhood. The zoning stuff had already gone through. There was nothing I could do, but hey, that’s fine, at least it provides job opportunities for people in the area, right?
Oh… no? No, you only hire a specific “type” of person? How worldly and refined of you to discriminate based on outward appearances. Man, I just don’t know what people mean when they say Hollywood is devoid of morals or compassion. I mean, it’s weird, right?
So, I get it. You don’t like “people like me.” I’m not sure if it’s the tattoos or the tussled, devil-may-care hairstyle, or if I just don’t make enough money for you to feign interest in me (hey, look, another prostitute reference…) but I really couldn’t care less. Just stop with the stink-eye.
Sincerely,
Calhoun

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