My First Overnight Shift

(I had a good time.)

On Monday night, I felt very depressed. I was stricken with a bad case of the Waffle-House blues. My shift was only ninety minutes away, and I didn’t even know how to use the cash register. So I figured that I’d probably get fired.

Mom said, “Why don’t you just quit? This nation is flooded with bullshit jobs, and you’ll land another one in no-time flat.”

I shook my head. “I learned not to quit in Asia. Because the worm always turns.”

And this is true. When I landed my gig in South Korea, the principal hated my guts. He used to frequently call me into his office simply to ream me out for pretty much nothing. I was his favorite punching bag. But he got fired about a year later, and the guy who took over his position loved me to death.

And a similar situation occurred in China. New leadership was installed halfway through my tenure, and I was fired because I was middle management. However, the Chinese teachers really liked me, so I was rehired a few days later. The boss had to eat crow when he welcomed me back to the team.

Anyway, I arrived at the restaurant a little early, and not one person even spoke to me. They just nodded and smiled. And I’m not ashamed to admit it. I was a cunt hair from walking out the door. Who needs the aggravation, right?

Then like a vision from heaven, a tall pregnant girl came striding my way. She had blonde hair and a bright smile. And when I tell you she was tall, I ain’t lying. She was a six-footer with a round butt and a nice set of milk-heavy tits.

She said, “My name is Dallas, and you must be Jack. Marsha the Manager said that you’re new, so I should take it easy on you.”

“I’ve got to be honest. I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. I can’t even use the cash register.”

“Who was your trainer?”

“Daphne Diamond.”

She smirked at me. “No wonder. That woman is a useless bitch. I hate her guts because she’s a racist.”

“Well, I really don’t know the woman. I’m not sure if she’s a racist or not.”

She placed her hand on my shoulder. “Oh, trust me. She’s a racist. You should see the way she treats my boyfriend. He’s from Senegal. I’d like to punch her right in the fucking face, but I’m too much of a lady. I wasn’t raised that way.”

Then she started telling me some wild stories. One of the shift supervisors had recently got fired for kicking a drunk woman in the chest.

I said, “He kicked a woman in the chest?”

She shook her head. “Our supervisor was a female. But she doesn’t put up with any shit.”

“Kicking the customers probably isn’t a good thing.”

“The bitch deserved it. She was drunk and stupid.”

Then she told me about one of the cooks who got sent home for the day because he kept touching the waitresses. It suddenly occurred to me that many Waffle House workers had probably been  special-ed students back in high school.

Anyway, my shift was only five hours long, but I made fifty dollars in tips. Overall, I had a good time.

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