Dear Mr. Stein,
I’m going to come right out and say it — I am an Elite Yelper (as of 2021). I know you don’t normally deal with high-profile clients, but I do hope your sense of wonder passes and you will hear my case.
Over the last few months, I have reviewed at least 50 dining establishments throughout the greater Los Angeles area. Many restaurants have benefitted from my tasteful recommendations (“You must try the delicate koi fish sashimi, a treat for even the most refined palates.” — a tribute to the chefs at Sake House Miro) and many a foodie has heeded my pans of dishes (“Steer clear of bison burger at Ned’s. Tough. Dry. Ew. My dog scoffed at the smell of it.”)
While I have endured my fair share of criticism (Ned from Ned’s called me an “elite fuck-face with a tiny dick” in an Instagram DM), I have never experienced the level of savagery brought on by Tim Boudreaux of Tim Boudreaux’s Fine Sausages (TBFS) in Pasadena. That, Mr. Stein, is why I write you.
I visited TBFS in early October to try their infamous summer sausage. I entered the restaurant and announced to the waitress that I was, in fact, Gladys Carmichael III the elite Yelper (’21), and I would like to be seated immediately. The waitress sat me near the bathroom, which smelled of a recent poo.
This wasn’t acceptable, so I asked to see a manager. Soon, a small man came out of the bathroom. He spoke with a Cajun accent as thick as the gumbos of southern Louisiana (this, Mr. Stein, is the type of analogy my little readers drool over).
I told him of my prestigious position in the Yelp community. I kindly requested a new table and to be comped a meal for the sake of my review, and he looked at me dead in my blue eyes and said, “Get the fuck out of my restaurant, loser.”
Baffled, I said, “Excuse me. What did you say?”
He repeated: “We don’t serve people like you.” My jaw dropped to the oil-stained floor, Mr. Stein. I gestured to my youthful pale skin and said, “What do you mean people like me?” “Yelpers. Pieces of shit. Like you. That’s what I mean,” he grumbled under his garlicky breath. Everyone in the restaurant began to clap for him. And then I left, embarrassed, offended, and resolute to write a review.
So I did. I wrote a reasonable review about the disgusting decor, unfathomably stinky bathrooms, and the unheard of disrespect from Tim Boudreaux. Life went on. I began therapy to deal with the trauma I endured. Then last Tuesday, I woke to an alert on my phone.
Apparently, someone (whom I believe to be Tim) had created a Yelp page for me. I — Gladys Carmichael III — was listed as a Mexican gastro pub in West Hollywood specializing in the serving of “dolphin fish tacos” and “shredded tabby cat quesadillas.” I was apparently famous for my “all-American hot dog ceviche” and “panda bear tar-tar.” I only had a two-star rating (there were a few locals excited at the prospect of tasting “snow leopard chalupas”). The bio said I “ethically raise and butcher all the animals on site.”
And to top that off, I had over 100 reviews within hours! Angry Angelenos accusing me of poaching endangered mammals without any real knowledge of what they were writing about! Before I knew it, there was a protest on my front lawn. Tim Boudreaux stood at the front, asking if he could have a free meal, for he had a review to write on his Elite Yelp page! I tried to explain to the posse that I was not a restaurant, but the protestors broke into my home looking to emancipate the animals. There were no animals to be found, but my porn collection was uncovered, which (not to my knowledge) contained certain things deemed illegal in the state of California. We can discuss that further later. I have since been dethroned from my platform as an Elite Yelper, the DA has filed charges against me, and my parents disowned me.
I would like to serve up a thiq curry of lawsuits (yet another analogy my readers lust over).
First, let’s take down Yelp. Their platform allows for lies and has the potential to harm individuals such as myself, Gladys.
Second, Tim Boudreaux, that Cajun son of a bitch. Excuse my French. I believe that swamp rat is the mastermind behind my downfall. You will need to surveil him, you will.
Third, protestors. They are a violent type.
Finally, the LAPD. They can’t keep my porn collection forever. It is special. I would like it back.
Again Mr. Stein, I only chose you because of your Elite Yelper status. I know you understand the service we elites provide to the culinary world. Now, I beg you to provide your legal service.
Yelp On,
Gladys