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| What? You would like more? Free of charge? And you've had how many breadsticks????? |
Day 1:
Hello! My name is [insert name here]. May I be your slave for the next hour and a half while you stuff your face full of food? May I run for you; dance for you; sing a song? Will you remember to tip me? Oh, just a dollar? Well, I guess it's better than nothing...
Ah, yes. The joys of working in a restaurant. It's great, you willingly become someone's bitch just for the hope (a fading mirage perhaps) that the person will like you enough to give you a little something extra [insert joke that's not really a joke about how this parallels being in a relationship with a woman...]. Serving can be fun. It pays the bills, and I don't like to complain about that. But...sometimes...just sometimes I have to come home and shower. Just to feel normal again. To wash the grime away. I wish the shower was just a physical cleansing, but it really acts as a symbolic cleansing too. Washing away the grime of dealing with a certain type of person. The type that feels entitled. They are entitled to be at the restaurant. They are entitled to have everything perfect. They are entitled to make you feel like any mistakes are solely the fault of others (in particular, you). They are entitled to not wait at all (regardless of how busy the server or the restaurant is). Please don't make the mistake in believing that I am promoting a lack of standards in the service industry. There should be standards. But some people just don't understand that they aren't the most important or sole entity in the universe. It is this type of person that makes me feel gross. I feel demeaned and degraded. Worthless. Just a drone.
I bring all this up tonight because today marked the first day in a ridiculous promotion that my restaurant runs every year. And it seems to bring in a very particular group of people. This promotion runs for the next few months, so I will attempt to document my thoughts at least once a week or so. I feel that, if I don't, I will surely go crazy (this is a joke. We all know that I lost my marbles a long time ago).
Note: Today, as I watched people consume more calories in a single sitting than I get in three days, I was sorely tempted to bring them a nutrition guide and explain that the meal they were currently eating was likely to cause a heart attack. (Oh! And a happy thought to give you the warm fuzzies! Last week, the paramedics had to rush to our restaurant and save a man's life. He had a real heart attack. At my table. He was alive when he left, so I hope that he lived through the night to tell his grandchildren the story)
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| We should post a similar sign in our restaurant |
~The Piebald Penguin
