Time to be a waiter again


After six weeks of not being a waiter, the time is drawing near for me to don my apron, slap on a fake smile, put some pens in my pocket and get back to the wonderful world of food service. It has been a glorious six weeks. Let me mention some of things I have not done lately. Never once have I considered if a ketchup bottle needed refilling. I did not slice lemons, limes or any other bar fruit unless it was for a cocktail that I myself would be drinking. Okay, well actually that was probably about the same amount of slicing. This bitchy waiter drinks. A lot. I have not dragged a high chair over to any women who then complained that the straps were broken and therefore unsafe for their precious bundle of joy. (We keep the straps broken to discourage people from returning with their precious bundles of joy.) I have not memorized any lunch specials to spout off to my tables. Strike that. I have not memorized lunch specials for years. Lunch specials are a waste of my time. The menu has plenty of options. I have not wiped down a table, set up a patio, filled a salt shaker, made a decaf skim latte with extra foam for an old lady who will send it back because it’s not how she wants it and I have not had to tip out a bus boy who doesn’t do shit.

Oh, how I have loved my six weeks of being a non-waiter. A single tear falls from my bloodshot eye as I realize that in two days I am the slave of food service once again. Bitchy waiter lives on.

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