Prostitution will never go away. The practice itself may evolve but the bottom line will always remain the same – financial gain. And for far too long I have been a hooker.

We all enter the profession for the same reason: We’re desperate. The job gives us what we need and, like a bad drug, we’re instantly hooked. No, I am not a sex worker – I’m a waiter.

Every weekend I, like so many others, put on my garb but instead of walking the streets, I walk the dining room floor, each night trying to sell myself to each and every guest.

I am the one that greets you, the one who walks you through the menu, the one who makes suggestions that often go ignored. I compliment your entrée choice. I bring you clean silverware. I refill your water and bring your drinks from the bar. I usher over every course with promptness and strive to make your experience superb.

You ignore me, then ask me to repeat the specials for the third time. You order me around as if I belong to you and only you. You complain to me that your filet is tough; your date’s center cut is overcooked. You push every button on me, and people wonder why I stay with you.

It’s not your charming personality, or your dashing good looks. It’s not the jokes you make or your tender concern for my wellbeing. It’s your money.

Those of you who have never worked in the service industry can never fully understand this. We put up with a lot – and for what? Sometimes 15 percent is hardly worth it.

Forgive me if I sound bitter. I am. In an effort to be proactive, I have decided to lay down some ground rules for those distinctive diners who make all servers lives a living hell.

RULE 1: Leave your cell phone in the car. I know this is a cliché, but it does hold some truth. First impressions are everything. The quality of service that we provide to you entirely depends on the amount of respect that you show to us.

And about those flashy new earpieces – you people aren’t fooling anyone. No matter how sleek they appear to be, they are not fashion accessories. Take them out when you’re not using them.

RULE 2: Order your drinks like a pro and never ask about the prices. We can tell a lot about a person by the type of cocktail that they order. For example, any self-respecting woman would never order White Zinfandel. “White Sin,” as I like to call it, is an abomination. Some speculate that consuming this beverage is directly related to many teen pregnancies.

And for you men who order fruity cocktails (i.e. pina colada’s, strawberry daiquiris) well, we see you as brave – to say the least.

Finally, under no circumstances should anyone ever mix a barrel-aged bourbon with Coke. It’s a tell-tell sign of an amateur.

RULE 3: If you have children under the age of six, you have two options when it comes to dining out. Option one: Book a babysitter before booking your reservations. Or option two: Tack on a $10 child tax after tipping. Note: This is $10 per child.

RULE 4: Never make a joke to your sever about a menu item. Trust me, we have heard them all. There is a limit to how many times we can laugh at the same joke in one night. It will save us a lot of time and you a lot of embarrassment.

RULE 5: Learn server lingo. Doing so will only add to the satisfaction of your meal. Here is a brief list of code words we use to describe certain dishes: zesty/spicy, rich/tons of butter, fresh/raw, light/small portion, hearty/greasy, cooked in oil/fried, not my favorite/please don’t order that.

RULE 6: Never ask your server, “Are you new here?” This automatically makes us assume that we are doing a bad job even if you’re just trying to make small talk.

Generally, we will not try to recover. Your service will begin to slip, and we will write you off as a loss.

RULE 7: Never snap your fingers for your server’s attention. This may seem like a joke, but it does happen. Snapping is just an urban restaurant myth. We don’t respond to that with urgency as much as we do with rage. I’ve heard of people losing perfectly good fingers that way.

RULE 8: If it’s your friend’s birthday and she is wearing a tiara that says “Birthday Girl,” you don’t have to tell us. An alarming amount of service industry workers can, in fact, read. However, don’t expect us to sing. We’re servers, not rock stars. And besides, she’s your friend. Isn’t that your job?