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.
As it turns out, searching for part-time, single-digits-per-hour work is just as difficult as finding something that resembles a career.
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.
Starsky and Hutch!
Brady and Moss!
Penn and Teller!
Walt and Jesse!
Jeff and Andrew?
heard read correctly, folks! Andrew over at my blog away from blog, The Artist Mindset, has once again risked pageviews and followers by allowing me the opportunity to collaborate on yet another hilarious post for his blog.