At Your Service: Ode To A Pizzeria

Oh, local Chicago pizzeria, how I loathe thee!
With thine poorly tipping guests
And ne'er enough of the most popular beers -
I have never met one that drove me so crazy.

Oh, local Chicago pizzeria, you surely kid!
Surely no busser would use Sprite in the place of table wipes -
But alas! 'tis true, for a guest phoned and complained.
How hast thee possibly stayed Zagat rated?

Aye, thine servers are tipsy -
We must drink along with the guests,
For there is no other way to get through a shift
Of serving you and your family.

Nights on the patio are spent chasing away bums
From my high-maintenance tables
Then I get a kind young couple that wishes me the bes t-
And discover their sole motive was to ask for a threesome.

Why is it then, that in this madness I stay?
Perhaps it is the dollars it puts in my pocket -
Mark my words! When I get my degree,
I will be quitting this hell hole the very next day.

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The pseudononymous Patty Hunter brings you tales from the front lines of serverdom every week. She welcomes your comments. Catch up with the rest of this series and its companions in our Life At Work archive.

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You can also listen to Patty Hunter's recent interview on Outside the Loop Radio. Her bit starts at 22:25, but the whole show, as always, is worth checking out.

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