Dear Diary

I can’t tell if today’s Metropolitan Diary is obnoxiously condescending or just obnoxious. Please someone help:

WAITRESSES
(a poem about working on the Lower East Side)

We work the late nights
in the blurred sight
of the drunks who drink in dim lights.
We share cab rides
in the sunrise.
We sit laughing at the stop signs.
We work the weekends.
We are a few friends.
We make the best of such a dead end.

I mean, I think I can visualize who could be writing this — somebody for whom waitressing is a stop-gap job in lieu of other interests — but on the off chance it isn’t, doesn’t it sound horribly obnoxious? Answer: Yes!

Also from today:

• Just Keep Telling Yourself That: Lo and behold, the high-rise tower that had sprung up a block north was reflecting the sun’s glorious afternoon rays into our humble one-bedroom, an unexpected benefit of gentrification.
• If I Had a Dime for Every Time . . .: My sister and I stared at each other dumbfounded as our heap of burdensome baggage at the top of the stairs was quickly transformed into a wonderful New York story at the bottom.
• The Happy Proletariat: The truck driver got out, tipped his hat to my aunt (who conceded defeat very graciously) and we proceeded on to the museum for a great afternoon.

Bonus Point: Better (and More Frequent) Metropolitan Diary.