Fact or Fiction?!?!

There just should have been a sign that said "Bitchy Management Parking Only" but there wasn't. The tell-tale car meant that she was there. Her heart dropped as she pulled into her parking spot, slammed her car in park, grabbed her purse, slammed the door for good measure and rushed in the door to ensure she wasn't late. There she was, standing at the podium, a human form of Satan; walking in the doors was like walking through the gates of Hell, and she braced herself for the worst - her mood was set for the evening. Greeting you with that corporate fake smile, calling you sweetie, asking how your day was, it would do a 360 in about T-10 seconds.

A measley five minutes had passed, and already it had began, she wasn't even on the clock yet "eating up the labor" but she was feeling the wrath. Walking past, she lashed out, "that shirt you are wearing is a little wrinkly, your name tag is half an inch too low, your apron is crooked, your table needs another refill" (as you have it trayed up and in your hand). Its incessant, and it wasn't stopping.

Finally, the last straw: as she approached a table, they are waiting on two more. She offered drinks and goes to grab them, on the way back, she hears, "I need to see you in the office NOW."

Snapping as she motions to the office door like she was her pet dog. Shrugging to her co-worker, she passes the tray with drinks on it to him and strolls in, completely unsure of what she did wrong.

"The specials, you have to tell your tables about the specials. You know I can fire you for this! We have standards here and you know it, what are you thinking!"

Getting ready to interject, she opens her mouth and is immediately cut off as she continues to spew.

"Seriously, what are you thinking, you know I am taking you off the floor for the night. This is your first and ONLY warning."

Giving her a chance to speak, the server contemplates to herself, does she tell her the obvious fact that she was waiting on two more to tell them all about the specials. However, at this point, she is so frustrated, so beaten down, so irritated, that she snaps. Steam is pouring from her ears like an angry bull in a cartoon, and she explodes, spilling everything on her mind.

"This place is absolute bullshit. No one can do anything right. Walking in this door is a nightmare, a fucking nightmare. I actually tear up if I see your car in the parking lot. I understand that this isn't your dream job, but do you have to take it out on all of us, we are human beings, not robots. AND, for your information, my table was waiting on joiners, I was going to give them the specials when they were all at the table instead of repeating it twice. Maybe you could have listened to everything before you jumped to the WRONG conclusion. Oh, and I don't even have availibility today, so we shouldn't even be having this discussion."

Just then, you sit straight up, gasping for breath, coated in a sheen of sweat. You look around and realize you are in your own bed. You shudder, shaking off the horror that you have just experienced...shuddering, you flip the TV over the Food Network, and pray for Barefoot Contessa to lull you back to sleep and away from the server nightmares.