Urinary Tract Infection

 

(Mom is under the weather.)

Yesterday, I woke up at 4 p.m. and stumbled to the kitchen. Mom was sitting at the counter looking glum.

I said, “Are you doing OK?”

She shook her head. “I’m sick.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

She took a sip of coffee. “I think I have another urinary tract infection.”

This might not sound like a big deal, but it’s huge for a stroke survivor. For some reason, a UTI can actually make your head explode. Why? I have no fucking idea. I’m simply a waffle boy.

I said, “Can I drive you to the emergency room?”

“I’m too tired. Plus you have to go to work tonight.”

“I’ll call in sick.”

“It’s not a huge deal. Nurse Ken can drive me there tomorrow.”

This is going to sound very selfish, and I’m afraid to write it down on paper. But one of the main reasons I came to America was that the old lady kept breaking my balls. So if she ends up dying, I’m going to be super pissed. I’ve told her that before. She must struggle with all her might before giving up the ghost.

I’m not proud of myself. Yet those are my true feelings, so take it or leave it.

I arrived at the Waffle House at 9 p.m., and my stomach felt queasy…like I  was going to shit my pants. But this isn’t unusual. The gig gives me a lot of stress for some reason. I don’t know why.

However, the news wasn’t all bad. I was working with Pork-Chop Jane and Dwayne the Dwarf. And I knew they’d be stoned out of their heads within a couple of hours.

We suddenly got a huge rush of customers. I mean, there wasn’t a seat left in the place, and we were too understaffed to deal with the bodies.

My first table was a bunch of high-school kids. There were six of them in all, and I had to write out separate checks for each person…which is always a pain in my balls. Plus they were a little crazy.

One of them looked at his friend. “You need to lick my asshole.”

They all started laughing and calling him a fag.

A pimply boy said, “We have to be careful, or they’ll throw us out.”

I said, “It’s pretty hard to get kicked out the Waffle House.”

Just then, Pork-Chop Jane decided to put her foot down. “Listen, you little assholes. There are young children in the restaurant, and if you can’t behave, then you need to leave.”

I smiled at the kids. “You retards might be the first to accomplish the task.”

Anyway, more and more people kept flooding through the doors. It was complete hell. Then on top of that, we had to deal with a shitload of to-go orders.

I saw a family sitting in my section as I was calling out an order.

I said, “I’ll be with you in a moment. We’re kind of slammed right now.”

However, they didn’t have the patience to wait. So they got up and walked out. But what can you do? I only have two fucking hands, and Dwayne the Dwarf was swamped.

Everything suddenly slowed down at 2 a.m. In fact, the place went pretty much dead.

Yet the work never stops at the Waffle House. We had to clean all those dirty dishes and do our side chores.

Overall, it wasn’t a horrible night. I made over $200.

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