My acceptance of the service industry waivers day to day. Some days I'm OK with it, other days I'd like to hang my head in shame. Today I'd like to punch a hostess in the face. Enter the hostess: 19-year-old, overweight high school graduate.
As I'm in the server prep area completing my end-of-shift duties, she gives me the eye.
"I don't know who told you you could do this back here, but you're not supposed to," she said, continuing to give me the eye. Apparently I was in her way.
I gave her the eye right back.
"No one told me what to do, so I'm doing it here," I said, with the eye.
Bitch. I wanted to say.
Seriously. I've had a one-on-one interview with a murderer, sat in on homicide court cases, watched aldermen get elected, received praise from state senators for my work, SHOOK BARACK OBAMA'S HAND.
What I don't do is get talked down to by a 19-year-old restaurant hostess.
She ruined my day. I'm a waitress.