Thank Jesus I can't find a job in my field, because now that I've been waiting tables for some time, I've had a revelation: I have a super power.
Not only that, apparently when I speak, I can hear myself, but customers can't! It's magic.
Seriously, people, didn't your momma teach you any manners? You most certainly didn't have my Aunt Linda around, who scolded me every time I asked for another helping of Kraft Mac and Cheese without saying 'please' when I was a kid.
Please, please, when you go to a restaurant, and your friendly server comes to the table, will you acknowledge his or her existence? Last night I almost fell over the first time someone made eye contact with me and--gasp--smiled.
I got to the point last night where I was contemplating pulling a Clark Griswold when my tables left: "Kiss my ass. Kiss his ass. Kiss your ass. Happy Hanukkah."
So if you really want to break a young woman's spirit on a Saturday night, come sit at one of my tables, refuse to make eye contact with me or respond to my questions, and never by any means say please or thank you.
I mean, give me a break people. It's Saturday night, I'm making $4.85 an hour and I'm wearing an apron. You're drinking beer and eating nachos. Acknowledge me!