You’ll remember that as recently as 2012, I was forced by The Universe (who was clearly PMSing that day) to return to the shackles of the restaurant industry. I had at first resisted, and taken odd jobs as a shop girl for a high end apparel store (free clothes – what!) and a data entry clerk at our county courthouse. However, neither of these posts paid more than $11 an hour, and right around this time was when I made the decision to move in with Mr. PB (the first time). So to compound my $300/week tragedy, and let’s not even talk about my $500 a month student loan payments, I now faced a 91-mile daily roundtrip commute in a car that drinks premium. That, unlike a fine wine, did not age well. It got old and saggy and age-spotted with a quickness. Thankfully, or not thankfully, my little brother is a career bartender. This kid is a rockstar and he loves his job. He opted to skip college and has zero student debt and a lucrative job he loves so whooooooooooooo’s the smart one? Degree, shmegree.
Anyway, he put in a few good words and lickety split, it was time for PB 2 – Back in the Apron.
Here’s PB from B in the D to tell you about this one night…
A few little tips from me to you: First, when you decide to sit your miserable old ass at my table and name drop my manager like you two go way back, it is ill-advised to act like an entitled jerk. You’re making a fool of both of you. Also, do not shove your cup of coffee at me across the table and snap “HOT PLEASE” with a dismissive little wave of your hand. I mean, let’s be logical here, Sir. You’re sending your precious coffee away from your table and around the corner in the clutches of someone you’re working impressively hard to piss off.
Do not enliven the fury of your waitress. It won’t end well for you, and chances are, you won’t even know. Which is even scarier when you mull it over, eh?