The skies opened up today. Grey clouds parted and sun shone through as the finger of God reached down to touch me gently on the forehead. He brushed the hair and sleep out of my eyes and and said unto me, “Bitch, get your ass up. You gotta go to work today.” Yes, someone swallowed all the bullshit that spewed out of my mouth during a job interview and they gave me a starting date for employment. The Bitchy Waiter serves again.
Today will be my trailing shift to see if the restaurant and I are a good fit. Basically, I will follow a server around while he tells me the ins and outs of the job and then at the end of the day I will do all his crappiest sidework for him and get no tips. Hopefully, there will be some minimum wage involved, but you just never know. Sometimes they will pay you with a meal or just a big hearty “thanks, but no thanks.” But my new job is not in a restaurant. It is in a swanky cabaret club where I will be serving cocktails to poor schlubs who have to meet the two-drink minimum while they listen to a show. When I say swanky I mean swanky. Like they have candles and shit. And they don’t have a kitchen which sorta gives me a semi-hard-on of excitement. Any food that is ordered is of the light fare variety and is catered in. Tingles of joy run down my spine at having no ketchup bottles in my immediate future. Now don’t get me wrong. This is a trailing shift and could be my last one if they decide that I suck. At waiting tables, I mean. Or maybe I will get there and realize that the tips are really really bad and I have to be there for nine hours to walk with only $40. Only time will tell.
But this could be the beginning of a new dawn. An age where I enjoy carrying trays of over priced cocktails and I look forward to slicing fruit. I may have found my new calling as a cocktail server. I see myself eagerly trotting to work each night giddy with anticipation to wait tables because my new place of employment treats me with respect and the customers all love how I do my job and they throw piles of twenty dollar bills at me. I would then be known as The Happy Waiter or The Satisfied Waiter or The Euphoric Waiter. Or it could just be the same ol’ same ol’ job of waiting tables and The Bitchy Waiter will reign supreme forever and ever.