What’s White and Sticky and in a Napkin?

As servers, we are used to getting our hands dirty. Whether it is reaching into that nasty ass bus tub to get a fork because table 18 needs one right away and you’d rather get a dirty one right here and wash it than walk all the way to the dish room or cleaning the fucking ketchup bottles, our hands are constantly filthy. Thankfully, we all wash them continuously so that our hands are clean and sanitized when we handle the bread for our customers. (That’s funny.) Anyhoo, I was re-setting my station the other day and going through the room picking up all the trash off the tables so they could be wiped down. The usual was there; bev naps, straw wrappers, cocktail sippy straw thingies, etc. I was just making a sweep grabbing it all with my hands when I picked up a napkin that was sopping wet. The napkin was balled up and inside it was some wet sticky substance that oozed through my finger and got all up in my joory. My mind raced:

Oh shit, what the fuck is in this napkin? Did somebody just blow their nose and leave the Kleenex here and now their snot is all in my hand? This better not be fucking snot. I will be so pissed off if I look down and see a fucking booger hanging off my ring. Or spooge. Do not tell me someone just spooged all up in a bev nap and now I am holding it. I do not get paid enough to hold spooge in my hand. I get $4.65 an hour and spooge-holding definitely requires at least $7.00 an hour. And it’s sticky too. Oh shit, it’s spooge. I know it’s spooge. I have the spooge of a stranger in my hand. Okay, I’m gonna look down and see what it is. Here I go. Oh God! It’s white! And creamy! And sticky. It is so totally spooge. Goddammit, who the fuck leaves spooge in a bev nap? That’s it, I quit. If I am gonna be a spooge catcher I may as well place an ad on craigslist and get paid the big bucks. I can see the ad now: “let me catch your spooge in my hand and you pay me seven dollars.” Yuck. Gross. I am gonna throw up. I am so totally going to throw up. This is nastier than a soggy biscuit. It’s spooge. Spoooooooge!

As I started to pass out from anger, frustration and disgust, I noticed a coffee cup on the table and remembered what the lady at the table had ordered. She had an Irish Coffee. With whipped cream. Apparently, she didn’t want the whipped cream so she scooped it off and placed it on the napkin that was now in my hand. “Oh, it’s whipped cream. Never mind.”

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