Nikki Yeager

Dear Panera Lady,

You’re making me fat. And poor. Fat and poor. Ever since Panera opened that location right across the park from my office, I’ve been coming in as a devoted (read: addicted) customer daily. It’s been like clockwork.. which you know since you see me every single day at 8:40am sharp.

The thing is, your bagels aren’t even that good. I mean, this is NYC, the mecca of bagels. We have bagels on every corner… and most of them outdo Panera. Plus, my teeth are starting to hurt from drinking too many lattes.

Yet I still leave an extra five minutes early every single day to see you and buy baked bread and coffee every morning. Why? Because of your stupidly contagious smile; it’s driving me insane. I’ve never see someone so happy as you. It’s like you’re on crack every morning.. but in a good way, not a crack-addicty, missing teeth, anorexic way.

….

What I’m trying to say is this – you are psychotically happy. And it’s not good for me. I feed off happiness like a leech sucking some poor victim’s blood. I love that stuff. And yours is the best kind of happiness, purely genuine.

So every morning I come, not for the caffeine, but for your dose of enthusiasm. You remember my name, you shout HELLO! You greet every single person like they’re a princess. And may the world forgive me for saying this, but I certainly believe I'm royalty every time I walk in…. I think this is a bad relationship for my ego. And my waistline. Really bad for my waistline.

In summary, Panera Lady, I need you to stop being so gosh darn amazing before I get to the fat-point I need to be lifted out of your store by a construction crane. I speak for all your customers in the area – stop being so ridiculously positive before you kill us all!!!!

Thank you for listening, my dear Panera Lady.