Gone are the days in which "secretaries" (now more properly known as "administrative assistants") were merely dimunitive women with nice sweater sets and shoulder pads.
Now, especially in Hollywood, assistants are rarely career assistants. They're the movers and shakers, the ones networking and climbing the ladder to greatness.
And if they're straight out of college and have yet to ever serve a single table, they can be absolute monsters.
I recently waited on a group of four assistants from a prominent casting office down the street. Like most millennials, they, too, were self-absorbed, impolite, constantly plugged into their phones, and entitled.
The group was composed of three homely, unfriendly girls and their token gay male friend.
"May I bring you all any drinks to start?"
"Uhm we'll just have iced teas..." one of the girls said like an absolute bitch, as if the question I'd posed were wildly amiss from her answer.
I returned with the beverages and overheard them discussing an actress who'd just auditioned for them earlier in the day.
"Like...we asked for actresses who were thin," their male companion snickered. "And she walks in, all happy and friendly, like we're going to cast that fat ass!!!"
The girls howled with laughter.
Now, I get that the general spirit of this blog is not one of good will, but I like to think I save my snarkiness only for those who deserve it. While I have no clue whether or not this auditioning actress was a nightmare or a delight, the comment only added to my loathing of this foursome. And auditioning is already a nervewracking experience without the judgment of a gaggle of out-of-shape witches.
I interrupted their giggle fit.
"You ready to order?"
They all looked at one another, speaking in their secret language of glares, and not one of them bothered to answer me.
I walked away, knowing I wouldn't return for a long, long time.
Five minutes later, one of the girls approached me at the bar, where I'd been sampling various garnishes and vodka.
"Weeeee've been, like, waiting for 20 minutes to order..." she said.
I returned the courtesy of her polite communication skills, meaning I stared at her, sucked on my orange and maraschino toothpick, and just gave a weak smile to acknowledge I'd heard her.
A few minutes after that, I returned to the table, again slaughtering them with my silence.
Instead of confronting me directly, the male friend uttered a few passive aggressive digs that I ignored.
"Actors..." he mumbled so his friends could hear. They giggled.
"Peons..." I mumbled as I doodled on my notepad. I giggled.
They each ordered in curt, rushed sentences, meant to indicate that I was on their shit list. I already knew there'd be no tip coming, so I didn't give a rat's ass.
I took my time turning in their food order, knowing they'd likely incur the wrath of their boss. The bill also somehow took longer than normal for me to print, deliver, then process.
As expected, they didn't tip. But thanks to me, they were most certainly late to work. And while I doubt the subliminal message of my actions - don't be rude - will land on them, I take great comfort in knowing that I made their lives a little more difficult, just as they surely have for countless actors who didn't deserve their unfounded sense of self-importance.