Are We Really Wastes of Space?

It was 2:30PM on a Thursday afternoon, the restaurant was dead...so dead that when you walked in the front door, you could hear a pin drop. Those that did walk in the door could hardly do so under their own power, they were what remained of the lunch crowd, but in all actuality, they were the earliest of the dinner crowd. It was like the early bird breakfast special at your local diner, and the bills totalled to about the same amount. The servers remaining on the floor would have to dig the change out of their check minders to receive their tips; maybe if they were lucky they would get a shiny golden dollar or a two dollar bill from the 1920's.

Those of us lucky enough - or unlucky enough to escape the early bird's dinner and spend their pitiful, meager $15 pre-tax earnings at lunch wallowed in their misery, hoping to scrape together enough to tip those who waited on them.

Sitting there, thumbing through their books, praying that they may have ditched a five or a ten and there was a chance they weren't as broke as the minute they walked in the door. Drinking their water - wishing it was alcohol, eating lunch, and dreading walking back into work for the second half of a shift that would prove to be just as bad. Lamenting over work, their personal lives, relationships, bills, the lack of money - it seemed it couldn't get much worse. They were intelligent people, some college grads, others working on it, others used it as a second job. They worked for idiots that used improper grammer, were unaware of current events, and couldn't function out of their closed-minded corporate box.

Scanning the bar top, they were given a glimpse of hope. The man at the other end of the bar, who they had been ignorning at all costs, made them feel good. He was beyond a loser; gumpy, missing teeth, wearing day after day a white shirt, jean jacket, cowboy boots and a perfectly accessorized white-trash gold-chain. He sucked down Budweiser like it was water, he talked loudly and ignorantly. Sitting next to him was his female counterpart; a wine-o that was willing to pay $6.00 a glass for a drugstore wine that was $6.00 a bottle. Bitching ignorantly about where they lived, their lack of employment (obvious because they were out drinking at 3PM on a weekday), and the weather. They were in their own little world. Even the bartenders tried to ignore them - their tips would be worthless, granted they didn't ask to borrow a $20 or pretend they left their money in the car and ran out.

He was worse than her, bar-hopping to get free drinks with a promise to pay you back, hitting on unsuspecting young girls, and driving the managment absolutely nuts, although they were always nice and pretended to give a shit.

Living his life in a fantasy world, he had quit his most recent job and had been gainfully unemployed for three days, which he bragged about. Today, his funds were dwindling low, so low that he had actually applied at the place he sat drinking, and was angry that they still hadn't called him back. Unbeknowst that one, drinking heavily at a place of potential employment, two looking and acting like a complete tool, and three hardly tipping or not paying your bill at all had probably gotten his application ripped up, burned, and the ashes thrown into the wind, so that there was no trace he ever applied.

Yes, looking at him, they realized....it could be much much worse!

Its All a Bunch of Baloney!!!

It'd only been two hours since he'd walked in the door, but already he was in the Manager's office consuming what could only be a small morsel of the mear 10,000 calories he required each day to function. His shapely body looked like humpty-dumpty: large and pear-shaped teetering on size 6 men's shoes. But, have no fear, his overwhelmingly, grotesque body was covered with an ever-so-neat, perfectly pressed shirt with creases in all the right places.

We'd like to think that the fine egyptian cotton in a soothing pale blue took away from his soaring blood pressure, noticiable with his crimson red face, but it didn't. In fact, it didn't cover the giant growth that peaked over his curled, snide lip, or the massive neck rolls that cascaded over his too-tight collar.

He scanned the dining room with a condescending frown; lower-level management hungrily looked up at him like a flock of baby birds waiting for him to spat up regurgitation into their already corporate, robotic minds.

Bonuses, promotions, bonuses, promotions, and bonuses; and he held the power within. He was not the smartest man, oh so far from it, but his by-the-book wisdom was all he needed to enjoy the 150K salary with promotional incentives. To the rest, they could have his power if they followed in his pitiful yet powerful footsteps.

There was a reason for each new rule added, the corporate manual was ridiculously similar to Hammurabi's Code. Rulebreaking or bending would cost you, it was white and black here, there was no grey. Punishment could vary, you may lose an arm, a finger, maybe a leg. Actually, you lost your soul, but there wasn't much left since it had been sold when you took the job. The rest was just another bygone. Each rule took away just a little more dignity from the servers, caused a little more frustration, and left the bulge in their back pocket a little thinner.

As a server walked past him, with the most minuet detail missed, he would lash out; a curled-up, venemous cobra hiding around the corner, waiting to snap and destroy the small, fragile thread of their self-worth and respect that remained.

Servers hid around corners, in the smallest nooks, awaiting the moment when the man with dollar signs for pupils would pack up his state-of-the-art laptop, bark one last remaining order (just to show everyone that he was still in charge) and exit the building. Leaving behind, strewn across the alley, the shattered dignity of the servers.

That Really Tugs My Tassle

"Hi, how's everyone doing tonig...."

"Diet Coke"

(My brain screams inside)

Well Sir, I didn't know diet coke was a feeling! Diet Coke...light and refreshing...you must be having a bubbly day Sir.

Oh, on the contrary; you're really an uppity, pretentious bastard. But, thats ok, we'll push through that and try to have a pleasurable dining experience.

(Back to Reality)

Diet coke...I'll grab that for you Sir in just a moment. But first, I need to take a second and tell you about the specials we have today and point out a few things on the menu.

The Customer is Not Always Right, In Fact the Customer is Usually a Moron or an Asshole

Prologue:

For me, waiting tables was a way to cut down on my mundane 9-5 routine that I was working my Senior year in college. I wanted to enjoy my last bit as a free-willed college student.

Plus, how hard could it be, right? Right? Seriously, I'd been out to eat hundreds of times, it seemed like a breeze. Walking in with no worried, walking out with no worries, and some green stuff in your pocket. It'd be entirely easer than managing an office...boy was I wrong.

Entering the occupation, I quickly learned that the world of your run-of-the-mill server is dark and twisted; it is highly unique to the occupation. Very few occupations tend to bond like servers; casual sex, illicit drugs, complicated threesomes, life-long friendships, and crazy tempers. It's kind of like rock and roll but without the glory.

Servers bond so well because its an us-against-them mentality; mainly for two relationships; server against customer and server against management.