The Restaurant Culture

Sometimes I think I'm the only person on the planet who hasn't done a stint as a waiter or waitress. Many people, especially those who have taken dinner orders for a living, would say I'm lucky, but I have to admit that sometimes I think I missed out on something.

The fact is, I avoided the profession during high school and college because I knew I'd be a terrible waiter. My memory is okay, but my memory for details is remarkably absent. I like people, but have little patience for those of the rude variety. And while I'm a hard worker, I get grumpy when I'm tired. So, I'd be likely to remember your burger, but forget the bacon you ordered. I'd probably have a great conversation with you before I forget your bacon, but would give as much as I got when you rudely said, "Well, where is my bacon?". And this situation would probably turn out okay if it occurred in the morning, but be a complete blowout if in the evening.

But by avoiding this profession, I've avoided that odd world that is the restaurant industry, with all of its hardships and happiness. I never had the embarrassment of dropping a tray full of entrees on the floor, but I never experienced the camaraderie of a bunch of people my age working their asses off all night. I never had to stay late to clean up the mess of a drunken Friday night, but I never took that drunken mess home with me for all-night no strings attached debauchery.

There's a whole culture to this industry, possibly best described by the "work hard, play hard" mantra. The stories I've heard about this culture are colorful, and generally involve lots of drug-use, poor behavior for lack of a meaningful consequences, and of course, sex amongst co-workers. The synergy of these high-risk behaviors is explosive, resulting in either wildly enjoyable, or wildly painful outcomes. It's a high-stakes game of finding the edge, over which drama and possible jail-time reside, but those who've lived to tell about it have better stories than I can make up. For a person so fixated on the deliciously intricate details of life, missing out on great stories is like missing out on living.

Perhaps someone who's lived a remarkable life in this culture will be good enough to write a can't-miss screenplay so that I can live vicariously through their experience, because that window in my life is closed. I will never be in a situation where it's okay to make five dollars an hour plus tips, to work a non-standard work week, or to snort coke off of a fake-breasted woman's ass on the bar of a closed restaurant. So, write the damn screenplay you worthless slackers, so I can live that life for two hours.

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