hooked

I got hooked early, after my first few nights. In the beginning, the commeraderie intimidated me. Everybody was in a clique but me, and I didn't know the dos and don'ts yet. Do kiss the boss' ass, don't screw a bunch of waitresses right away, but if you do, don't let anybody find out.

The money sucked at first, I made eleven dollars one night, sixteen the next, and then went right to another bar to spend it. But it didn't matter. These were fun people, they went out every night. It was a ready-made social circle, perfect for the heart-sick directionlessness of my early twenties. What other job featured cocktails as part of one's duties, and paid cash nightly?What other job permitted such intimate relations with waitresses, the hard talking, cash carrying stiff drinking culinary conduits of the restaurant world?

Waiting tables is like joining the circus. It's a runaway's approach to handling the inevitable challenge of finding one's niche, or at least a way to pay the bills. It's something to do while you figure out what you're going to do. It's a long term temporary fix