4:58 p.m. - I emerge from my car and head to the restaurant. Before I can open the door, a woman exits in a huff. "Do you work here!?" she asks. No I wear this huge salsa-stained apron to contain my enormous erection, you intellectual trailblazer. I nod. She tells me that no one ever took her order, so she left, and that I'm to pass that on to management. Bored, I speak in a fake Australian accent and assure her I will.
5:00 p.m. - Head straight to the bar and prepare myself a vodka and vodka in a kid's cup. At no point will I inform anyone of the woman's complaint from earlier.
5:25 p.m. - After a misleadingly slow shift start, the place fills up for happy hour. Hookers, thugs, rednecks, Persian pricks, and series regulars from every late 80's failed sit-com demand cheap drinks. I fill my tank with a bit more vodka and persevere.
5:40 p.m. - Someone I'm supposed to know from one of those tapeworms-of-humanity Kardashian series keeps name-dropping D.J.s, back-up dancers, and other people who scrape their nails as they hang on the edge of forgettably talentless. I give myself those weird stars in your peripheral from rolling my eyes so much.
5:45 p.m. - Time for another drink and a quick puff!
6:00 p.m. - I return from the Dumpster area in a muuuuuch better mood. The Kardashian Krew are, like, ready for their checks (to be separated by me clearly, that goes without saying). For fun, I inform them that a "check" is a form of payment, and that a bill is for goods and services received. I also tell them I can't split parties. Their tip is automatically added so I am fresh out of fucks to give.
6:05 p.m. - Time for another drink break and a quick puff!!
6:10: - A man who loves to tell stories is wasting so many minutes of my life boasting about his heyday in the agency mailrooms in the 1970s. I'm interested at first, ready to think about ISIS shortly thereafter.
6:15 p.m. - Time for another drinl break an d q uick pufff.
6:20 p.m. - Coffee, the shitty restaurant kind. I'm awake.
6:30 p.m. - I'm focused, and dealing with three pleasant, polite, well-spaced-out parties of eight. No stress. All is seamless and peaceful. Too peaceful.
6:45 p.m. - We're officially on a wait.
7:00 p.m. - All three of my large parties are long finished with dessert and coffee and rounds of drinks. All three credit card bills lie signed and ready for return. I keep dropping them off and picking them up again to drop subtle hints. Nothing. I am screwed, save my one constantly revolving two-top, which is mostly dining space to older men and their hookers. Just drinks, no food of course.
7:20 p.m. - Hallelujah! One of my large parties leaves. And drops a glass under the table. Which must be swept up. By the broom that the bus boy, who no one can find, had last.
7:25 p.m. - The bus boy emerges from the Dumpster high as fuuuuuuuck.
7:30 p.m. - After several attempts and help from people, including the customers at the neighboring table, the bus boy finally contains the glass spill.
7:32 p.m. - I am sat with a party of two. We're still on a wait, my tables are better-suited to large parties, and I get sat with two?! I run, bitch-faced, to find the host and dig my finger nails into his neck.
7:34 p.m. - Minutes later we're laughing. We're so bitchy to each other.
7:35 p.m. - The new two top is in a hurry, which I'm into. We have a nice few minutes together, they tip 20%, and I wish them well. They leave soon after. They get it.
8:40 p.m. - We go off a wait pretty quickly. After about two more turns, in an effort to split the labor as thinly as possible, the manager tells me I can do my sidework and head home.
9:05 p.m. - I remain at the bar because it's empty and shoot the breeze with the new bartender, who's not a shithead. I pretend to be interested in the football sports on T.V. Tired, I send for a Lyft - BECAUSE YOU SHOULD NEVER DRINK AND DRIVE - and leave mercifully with $52, my dignity, and more salsa stains.