As I glide into the headquarters where I become an agent of service and efficiency,
I'm neutral to menu changes because I'm too high to remember what we 86'd
So whatever we don't have, expect me to forget.
In my black button up, I pretend to laugh at the jokes of white customers, and I come in high once in a blue moon so if you text me during rush i might leave you on read
I may or may not have had a whiskey sour before I clocked in and I may or may not have 3 more when I get off but that doesn't matter because table 10 may or may not need more water...
I try not to label my bussers as minions but their unbalanced balance of working hard or hardly working is something beautifully despicable
Bumps in the stall and bumping into other servers, I bare a stone face because I'm hardened to the rocky flow of business
I've already spent the money I'm going to make today ...
There's always another table ready to close out and this fucking 12 top wants to split the bill and it's a reminder of how I sometimes live check to check
This guy asked me a for a drink with low alcohol content and whilst on the verge of industry induced suicide I prompted him to live a little
But give me attitude with your order and Jesus himself with dart from the clouds before you see an aperol spritz hit your table
TV static tastes better...
I frolick into the kitchen with hands ready to take a grasp full of food to a table of regulars who are "very hungry". Why are adults hungry at 8:30PM is a mystery that stumps me.
I love this industry
I love how it takes advantage of me after I have too much to drink but I made my availability open so in a way I asked for it
Though this restaurant must accept any version of me it gets. Whether I'm hungover or angry from watching the bussers flirt with my favorite bartender, I'm here to work
I'm prepared for nothing yet I expect anything so when I offer my table sparkling or still they should know that like their water I'm going with the flow
Im so self deprecating that my favorite thing on the menu is a taste of my own medicine ...
My favorite dessert is the sweet taste of clocking out
My favorite employee is the one in the mirror because obviously
At peace with depression is my definition of the service industry but I can't contemplate my mental health right now, table 13 is asking for the check...
I just went by my new guests' table and they asked me what was my favorite thing to eat on the menu and I put a gun in my mouth. And before I could pull the trigger the host triple sat me...
Fuck....
