The other day I was lucky enough to wait on one of the most arrogant douche-bags I've ever met.
Wow, was she a fucking winner?!
As she is sitting at the table with her ugly fucking family she demands that I "find someone" to take their picture.
I tell her, "I'd be more than happy to do it for you," and I am lying through my fucking teeth.
As she whips out her iPhone she casts a certain glare upon me, cautiously appraising my ability to operate such a device.
While placing--more like bestowing--this uncharted piece of fucking treasure into my hands, she asks, "do you know how to use these iPhones?"
Hold the phone, shithead! (Haha, literally)
Just because I work in the restaurant industry--a job in which I am subservient to your every last need--and wear a goofy fucking captain's jacket with a tacky Chip-and-Dale's bowtie, it does not mean that I am some sort of fucking idiotic peasant.
Like, honestly, am I some fucking extraterrestrial creature that has just made his maiden voyage to Earth?
I mean, do you think I live in a fucking dungeon with manacles--fucking balls-and-chains--wrapped around my legs.
What? You think I roll around with a fucking Zack Morris phone all the time?
You think that I only use a fucking landline when I make calls?
Christ, not only am I poor and underprivileged, but, apparently, I have no fucking friends within the circle of high society--either--that would ever allow me to use their iPhones.
I am just a measly, pathetic little fuck, I guess.
Little does she know, I own a fucking iPhone....
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