Please fire me. I work in a restaurant as a busser. The other day, I was cleaning tables when I...

Please fire me. I work in a restaurant as a busser. The other day, I was cleaning tables when I noticed a man watching me. He was doing it innocently enough, seeing as how his wife was sitting next to him.

After his wife left, however, the innocence of the situation left altogether. He was pointedly staring at my behind and my chest—not even making an attempt to hide it.

As I walked past his table, he slurred out, “Hey, sexy! Why don’t you do something useful and get me another beer!” 

As politely as possible, I said, “Your server will be able to take care of that for you.”

To which he responded, “Well, what if I want you to do it?”

I glanced at his server, who shrugged at me and gestured to the bar. Reluctantly, I brought the man his beer. As I leaned to put the beer on the table, he ran his hand up my thigh and rested it on my behind, slurring out, “Thank you, baby.”

I whipped around and slapped his hand away, warning him that if he ever touched me like that again, he would lose his hand.

He complained. I was written up. He got a free dessert.