It’s only day two of this new year that I had such high hopes for and already it’s seeming like a broken record when it comes to stupid comments on my Facebook page. You know my Facebook page, right? It’s the page that shares the name of this blog and its sole purpose is to bitch about being a waiter? It should be no surprise then that the page has its fair share of bitching on it, but what is surprising is how many people are surprised to find bitching on it.
On a recent post that generated over 2,000 comments, one particular comment stood out to me like a herpes sore on a waxed pelvis:
Oh, William. Dear, sweet, addlebrained William. I’ve been blogging about the restaurant industry since before you sprouted your first pubic hair and you think telling me to get a real job is something I haven’t heard before? Sweetie, waiting tables is a real job. It’s more real than that girlfriend of yours that you have to blow up before she can give you a blow job. And when I say “blow job” I mean inserting your penis into a Fleshlight shaped like lips, as free Pornhub videos stream on your cell phone.
You say it’s not our fault that we choose to serve shitty people and you are absolutely correct. We don’t choose which shitty people sit in our sections. It’s based on rotations and seating charts. You should be happy about that because if servers could choose which people they were going to wait on, your shitty ass would be delegated to fast-food, takeout and buffets, which is probably right up your asshole alley anyway.
Perhaps you think I sound pathetic, but what does that make you for commenting on it? This blog is where I come to do exactly what I am doing right now: vent about the frustrations of one’s job, just like everyone does. Teachers, nurses, doctors, police officers and sanitation workers all complain about the things that drive them crazy in their jobs. That doesn’t mean they’re all going to quit their jobs and find new ones. If you want to call us morons, that’s fine. Then I’ll call you what you are: a troll who cruises Facebook pages looking for things to comment on just to elicit a response so you can get the attention that your blow-up doll of a girlfriend can’t give you. So here is the attention you wanted, William. I happily serve it to you just as I would serve you if you sat in my section. I give it to you with a smile on my face and joy in my heart. I’m not a pathetic moron. I’m a waiter and I’m a blogger.
I can also give credit where credit is due, William. You said I’m petty and you’re right. You can call me Petty LaBelle or Peppermint Petty or Petty Which Way But Loose. I accept all of those monikers and if this blog post calling you out doesn’t prove that I embrace my pettiness, I don’t know what else will.
Happy new year, William. Now leave me the fuck alone.