On a new waitressing job
I forgot how much it sucked to work. And to get out of bed, early, on a Sunday, when there’s a beautiful girl sleeping next to you and the sheets are delciously warm and the world outside is silent. And I forgot how much working in a cafe makes me feel like a machine - my torso constantly held upright, my hips navigating swiftly between tables and countertops and darting people, forearms ever-tense with weighty plates and full glasses, and that constant feet-ache, throat-ache and hunger of a body that is overworked and underfuelled.
I also forgot how uplifting it is to be constantly interacting with happy people, fed (notthehungryones) people, looking-at-the-cake-cabinet-with-child-eyes people. Pleased to see their skinny extra hot latte people. And I forgot about the “I did not get what I wanted” people, and I forget them still, even as I turn away from them, because they are sich a waste of anybody’s energy.
