This Is Your Brain in the Weeds

The mind of server who is in the weeds is a dark and twisted place. Our brain goes into hyper-overdrive as we struggle to remember everything we are supposed to be doing for our customers. On a busy Friday night when the restaurant is slammed, our minds are full to bursting, not unlike a certain customer who used to come in every Sunday brunch and stuff his gut with croissants from the buffet.

This is your brain on drugs:

And this is your brain in the weeds:

Oh fuck, I need to fill that lady’s water at Table 12. Maybe I can get the busser to do it, like I can find a fucking busser. Where the fuck are they? And I need to go see if that recook is done for that burger on Table 19. He asks for a medium rare burger and then he’s gonna be pissed off that it’s pink inside? Oh my god, I never got that ketchup for the little boy on the patio. Wait, is the hostess double seating me? Are you kidding me right now? I do not have time for two more tables. I need to pee so bad. Do adult diapers actually work? Don’t astronauts wear them sometimes in space? I’m gonna Google that tonight- oh my God, I never rang in that dessert for Table 15. Wait, they’re eating a dessert at table 15. That’s not even the right dessert! Whose dessert are they eating? Fuck! Steak knives, steak, knives, Table 12 needs steak knives. And water! Where is the busser? That’s it, I am not tipping out the busser tonight. He did not earn it at all. But seriously, I if I could figure out a way for him to pee for me, I would tip him out 50%. My bladder hurts. Okay, I gotta go get that ketchup for the little boy on the patio. Wha does this asshole want, all flagging me down? I’m not even his server. Nope, I am going to pretend I did not even see him. Oh my God, why is my apron wet? Did I just pee myself? Did I just fucking piss my own pants? Oh wait, it’s just melted ice in my apron. Annnd, there’s a credit card in here too. Shit, that’s the man at Table 17 who was ready to close out. Okay, I have to get the water and steak knives for 12, get the ketchup for the kid, check on the recook for 19, run this guys credit card, greet my two new tables and then figure out what in fresh hell is going on with the desserts in my section. And then I will go pee. (looks at watch) It’s only 8:15!!! Why do I do this to myself???

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