Restaurant romances can be a slippery slope. They can even be slipperier than the walk-in after I spill a gallon tub of Ranch dressing and then “clean” it with a greasy broom and a roll of paper towels. Working in a restaurant brings you close to all kinds of people and when you mix it with the inevitable after-work drinking, the flirtations can sometimes grow into true love, or at least a blow job in the bathroom after closing time.
I myself have never gotten involved with someone at work. Partly because I find office romances to be completely unprofessional but mostly because no one has ever been interested. But I have seen it happen. It always starts out great. The attraction is there between two co-workers and it’s easy to date because they both have the same shitty ass schedule. A few dates turns into a relationship and then after two months they start to fight and it becomes incredibly awkward when they share a shift.
Her: Are you gonna cut the lemons? It’s your sidework, you know.
Him: Yeah, as soon as I run the trays through the dishwasher.
Her: Well, I need lemons right now. Can you do them first?
Him: Why is it always about what you want?
Her: Are you crazy? Everything we do is about you. What about what I want? What about what’s best for me?
Him: How about you cut you own fucking lemons?
Her: How about you cut your own fucking balls off?
Him: Fuck you. You’re crazy.
Her: Yeah I must be crazy if I ever thought being with you was good fucking idea. You make me fucking sick.
Manager: Let’s be team players, gang. We open in five minutes.
Him and Her: FUCK YOU!
Yeah, been there and seen that. Everyone has a story like that. I know someone who was once with a super hot manager in the handicap stall of the women’s bathroom. The host walked in to pee and the manager had to lift his feet from the floor so she wouldn’t notice that there were two pair of legs in one stall.
Every restaurant has at least one super slut. Imagine, if you will, a manager by the totally made up name of Janice Koehelr. (The name might be very very similar to the name of an actual person; Janet Cole, Jarice Khueler, Jeanette Kumbucket…) She was a horrible manager who worked at a place like The Olive Garden or Outback Steakhouse or Bennigan’s. You know the kind of place I’m talking about. She would sleep with employees and go out drinking with them and then give preferential treatment to those who were nibbling on her awesome blossom. You had to play the game or suffer the consequences. I heard she once had sex on a table with a line cook after the restaurant closed and that she used a bottle of ketchup in a very familiar way. Like those ketchup bottles aren’t gross enough. She went through men faster than an old lady goes through chamomile tea bags. (I also heard she was an expert at tea bagging but quit doing it when her weave got dirty from being too close to the walk-in floor.) Yeah, that Janice/Jarice/Jeanette was a real piece of work. She eventually got fired and now works at a strip club. Not sure if she’s a manager, server, pole dancer or cleaning woman. Whichever job she has, I’m sure it still has the prefix of “blow.”
My point is, restaurant romances never work out. Sure, they can be fun at the beginning when you both run to dry storage to get some more sugar packets and while you’re in there you taste a little bit of her sugar walls, but it’s not worth it. Eventually, things will go more sour than the milk that is sitting next to the coffee machine. Don’t do it, friends. And if you must, just remember Janice. One day she had the world at her feet at Outback and the next day she was on her knees at a strip club, cleaning carpets and then munching them.