A Customer Wants To Make A Waitress' Life Miserable. So The Waitress Blurts Out The Truth.

Not-so-fun fact: A waiter's minimum wage in America is $2.13 per hour plus tips. Waiters are three times more likely to fall under the poverty line than average workers, and women are three times more likely to be a waiter. They average $18,590 annually in income. Which ain't much to live on. Which is why this waitress has something blunt and kind of hilarious to say.

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Transcript:
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Waiting

It’s 8 a.m.;

smack in the middle of the breakfast rush

I’m juggling

three booths,

an 8-top round,

4 twos and 3 four tops

Table 2 is low on water

booth 6 needs a new fork

5 needs coffee for the 67th time

4 actually finished their food yesterday, now they’re just chatting,

and 7's been waiting too long.

We’re out of syrup,

so I have to run down to dry storage,

When the front door opens, and he stalks in;

his jaw clenched so tight you can hear his teeth

cracking from the pressure.

He picks my last open six-top booth by himself.

And I’d like to offer to pull up a couple of spare tables

so he can really spread out,

but as he bellows

CAN I GET SOME SERVICE OVER HERE?

I gather

sarcastic comments might not fly

with this audience,

so I secretly nickname him "cranky,"

‘cause....well....

if the shoe fits.

Now 2 Starts waving their half-empty water glasses.

and 7’s foods up, so I load my arms

with plates I swear the cooks

baked in the kiln moments before!

Drop off food, they want tabasco

bring tabasco, they want OJ

bring OJ, they want extra napkins

bring napkins, they want another side of bacon.

Consider offering table four

pillows and blankets to make their stay here more comfortable.

Coffee table 5 for the 68th time

And as I’m expecting to see one of their arteries actually

burst through their skin I hear the unmistakable

rapid staccato clink

of fork against a plate.

Cranky’s stabbing his breakfast

like a venomous spider that just won’t die.

There appears to be something

viciously wrong with his food.

I steel myself for the worst.

Is everything all right sir?

WELL, THESE POTATOES ARE LIKE LEATHER

THE COFFEE IS JUST AWFUL

MY TOAST IS BURNT

AND THESE EGGS ARE HARDLY POACHED SOFT.

DID YOU NOT HEAR ME SAY SOFT?

.......

I’m sorry.

Did they not cook that quite right?

Did you want me to maybe have your

mom come in and cut your toast into little bunny shapes?

Would that help?

Perhaps I could get your father on the phone

to finally tell you he loves you.

Could I get you a raise?

Would that make it better?

Or maybe I should just

supplicate myself before you

so you can

whip me with your menu.

If I get my boss over here to

fire me in front of you

would you sleep better tonight?

Would you like to see me

led out in handcuffs?

'Cause it’s not really about the food, here, is it?

Let’s get to the point.

You just want someone,

anyone

to have a shittier day and a shittier life than you.

So if I just

crumple to the floor in tears can we

bypass all this breakfast bullshit so I can

get that table their freaking water?

Dear God, look at them!

Their cheeks are caving in from dehydration!

You know if you people hadn’t gotten so drunk last night

you wouldn’t be this thirsty.

Is this going to effect my tip?

‘cause I’ve seen you before.

You always leave a shiny quarter, and I was

really hoping to get that

gumball today.

Now I realize

the fact I’m working here

must mean I can barely spell the word egg,

spend my off time watching soap operas

and clipping coupons from the Sunday shopper,

and if Aliens came to take

the finest of our species back to their planet

to breed a superhuman race,

they’d take you.

But I’m not here to prove my intelligence

I am here to take your order, bring it,

and drop off your check.

You are here to eat, pay, leave me that quarter

and scram.

And at the end of the day,

I'm doing a poetry show that

unfortunately doesn’t quite yet cut my financial mustard.

So let’s

cut through the crap and

finish this transaction

‘cause I

GOT ORDERS TO TAKE

There may be small errors in this transcript.
About:

Poetic rant by Thadra Sheridan, directed by one of my favorite poets, Jamie DeWolfe, and produced with Button Poetry, some of my favorite folks on Earth. You can see the study on labor rates here.

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