I got to the Waffle House at 9 p.m. Weepy Wanda was
standing over the sink and on the verge of tears. She tried to hold them back,
but it wasn’t long till she burst like a damn.
I patted her on the shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I was busy during
my shift, and now I have to drive home. It takes me almost forty minutes.”
“So it’s the commute that’s got you down?”
“I’m not sure. I just get this way sometimes.”
After the manager left, she walked to her SUV to smoke
pot. Dwayne the Dwarf and Pork-Chop Jane went with her. They burned dope for
the next twenty minutes.
But Wanda’s mood swings didn’t keep the customers
away. On the contrary. They kept coming and coming and coming. You assholes
have to remember one thing. This is the 4th of July weekend, and all
the white trash love their hash browns. So we were fucking slammed.
Benson, the slowest cook in the world, was the only
guy at the grill. And he was going nuts.
“Where the fuck is Dwayne?”
I said, “He’s outside getting high.”
“That’s just fucking great.”
I tried to call out an order, but he told me to hold
my fucking horses. That’s when I thought about punching the little punk right
in the mouth. However, I suddenly remembered that I’m quickly approaching sixty
years of age. And there’s no fucking way I’d be able to take a kid in his early
twenties. Therefore, I decided to cool my engines.
I said, “OK, Benson. No need to get your panties in a
bunch. Just tell me when you’re ready.”
He shot me the stink eye. “My panties aren’t in a
bunch.” Then he paused for dramatic effect. “Man, I hate this fucking job.”
Unlike Benson, I don’t hate working at Waffle House. I
find it to be great exercise. I’m constantly running around to get all my tasks
completed. And I think that it might actually improve my health. Plus the money
isn’t terrible. I look at it this way. At least I’m not slinging hash in
Djibouti. Things could always be worse.
Later that night, I had two booths filled with
Mexicans. They ran up a bill of $110 dollars and paid in cash. The guy handed
five bucks. Needless to say, I was crestfallen after looking at the mess they
left behind. I didn’t even say goodbye when they departed.
But as I was cleaning up their slop, I noticed a crisp
twenty-dollar bill pinned under the salt-and-pepper shakers. It made me feel a
little guilty. I thought they had screwed me, but it turned out that they had
followed the social convention of 20 percent.
This gig tends to make a guy a little greedy.
Tomorrow, I’ll do my best to be friendly to everyone. Even the deadbeats.
Yet the biggest surprise that happened during my shift
was Pork-Chop Jane. She actually spent most of her time inside the
building, and she kept up with the majority of her tasks. You could have
knocked me over with a feather. It was nice not having to do everything…which
is usually the case when she’s my partner in crime.
Overall, the night went OK. I made $270 for ten hours
of work.
Your work ethic might be rubbing off on Pork-Chop Jane. You handle shit situations better than most.
ReplyDeleteSkillet
No. She's back to her evil ways.
DeleteJack should be fucking jane in the ass behind the dumpster and cumming in her mouth in the walk in. But hey, thats just me.
ReplyDeleteNo. I really shouldn't.
Delete