“Is this going to be forever?”

A friend recently posted on Facebook about an encounter she had with a guest while this person was dining in her section.

I’ll paraphrase, because I’m too lazy to click over and copy verbatim.

“So, what are you going to do with real life?”

Real life? What is this? The Matrix? Because I see spoons fucking everywhere. Last I checked my colleagues and I put very real food in front of your very fat and very real faces every day.

That fourth soda you’re drinking is fucking real.

That plate of Adult Onset Diabetes is fucking real.

Don’t tell me what I’m doing isn’t real life because it’s putting a roof over my head and keeping me from doing coke off a tranny hooker’s cock for money.

Your condescension is thicker than the plaque in your arteries.

I speak for every server in the industry when I say I’d love nothing more than to use  my college degree for something other than kissing your ass in hopes you’ll help me make rent every month.

Enjoy your well done steak. It’s burned because you ordered it well done.

Yes I’ll get it fixed right away.

Twats.

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It’s all in who you know.

You guys might not know this, but writing posts for this blog doesn’t pay the bills.

Like, at all.

So, as one of my previous posts pointed out, I’ve been looking for a second job. And, as my absence from the blogging world might suggest — I found one.

For those of you keeping score, I now have 200 percent more jobs than nine percent of America.

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As it turns out, there are stupid questions after all.

As it turns out, searching for part-time, single-digits-per-hour work is just as difficult as finding something that resembles a career.

As difficult.

More annoying.

I’m trying to find a part-time job to fill in the less productive gaps of my life where I lay on the couch under a blanket of Cheetos crumbs and wonder where I went wrong. So I figure, hey, I can spare another 20-30 hours a week if it means upgrading from dinners seasoned with the salt of my tears to dinners flavored with actual seasonings.

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Ten.

I graduated high school 10 years ago, on this day. These are the things I’ve learned since then:

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Parallels: Serving, watching porn, and drugs.

My apologies, first off, for the misleading title. There will be no porn, nor will there be no drugs.

You probably won’t have to wait for anything either, though. So that’s cool.

While slaving away for the nation’s gluttonous, I started to think about some similarities being employed in a restaurant has to watching porn or doing drugs.

You could apply these things to other jobs as well, but since playing restaurant is all I know, I’m going with that.

So, you get hired in a restaurant and oh, my God is it the greatest place ever or what? The staff is super friendly and they joke around and have fun in the kitchen. You can’t believe how much of a great time you can get away with having while you’re at work. This is the first restaurant you’ve ever worked in, and the first night you get to go home with the money you made that same day, your mind is blown. Why didn’t I know about this sooner? You ask yourself, counting your cash. You can’t wait until you see your friends so you can tell them how awesome this job is.

It’s kind of like finding your first porn video or smoking your first fatty. You act like you’re goddamned Christopher Columbus of online sex or weed. You’re so excited you’re driving your friends crazy with details of your new discoveries.

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Hooray for you.

For a while, things are on the up-and-up. You couldn’t be happier with your job/empty balls/method of relaxation.

Life is good.

But then with time, the novelty wears off. You’re not as happy as you used to be but you stick with it because I’m just in a funk, you say to yourself. It’ll pass.

When it doesn’t pass, you’re coming up with ways to make this thing you used to love fresh and exciting again. Maybe you’re going to your boss and asking to go from serving to bartending. Maybe you’re clicking through a couple previously-unclicked categories on your favorite porn site. Maybe you got a hold of some ecstasy.

Wow! This new thing really put a new pep in your step! How great is it that this new thing is different and refreshing, but still similar enough to the old thing to allow for it to be an easy transition!

But, unlike the first thing, the joy this new thing has brought you fades more quickly. You’re in a rut again.

Things quickly spiral out of control. Maybe you’ve worked all available positions. Maybe you’ve dabbled into some gay stuff. Maybe there’s a dirty needle sticking out of your arm.

After years of abusing yourself, you come to the realization that, hey, you’ve had more than your share of experiences with this self-abuse. You can turn the tables! Maybe you can become a manager! Maybe you can make your own porn! Maybe you can sell drugs!

Maybe you submit your resume for management consideration.

Maybe you upload your own dirty deeds.

Maybe you start selling meth.

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After a handful of phone interviews or negative comments or unhappy competition; you soon learn that maybe working under management doesn’t give you management experience, that maybe watching porn doesn’t make you a pornstar, or that maybe being a consumer doesn’t make you an expert distributor. Maybe you aren’t fit for management. Maybe you fuck like a sloth with Down’s Syndrome. Maybe a rival distributor shoots you in the face.

Turns out, trying to get to the top only knocks you closer to rock bottom than you’d ever been before.

The trick is recognizing it before you let it get that far.

Or maybe you’ll lose all the passion you had for the thing you so much used to love doing. Maybe you’ll be into Japanese tentacle porn. Maybe you’ll find yourself snorting cocaine off a tranny’s erect cock.