Restaurant waiters are nothing more than schizophrenic psychopaths.
We approach tables with a bullshit facade--in hopes of pursuing that 20% tip--when, in actuality, we retreat to the confines of the kitchen (which is a safe haven) only to verbally bash-the-shit out of the asshole customers.
Yea, we're like fucking guerillas: we'll smile to your face, shake hands, and kiss babies, but it's all smoke and mirrors, people. We're really in the kitchen fucking crucifying you like the schizophrenic psychopaths we are; making fun of your hideous clothing, your ugly fucking faces, your idiotic children, your horrible parenting skills, your fucking lame conversations, your fat, gluttonous eating tendencies.
Speaking of 'horrible parenting skills,' tell your kids that the salt-and-paper shakers are used solely for enhancing taste, and not as fucking musical instruments. Also, tell your kids to sit down and shut the fuck up for once.
But as soon as we conclude our venomous, vituperative tirades--as we kick open the kitchen door with our trays stocked high--it's back to smiles and polite pleasantries.
Thank God for the fucking kitchen.
Another way in which we are schizophrenic psychopaths is that we all bitch-and-moan about not getting tables only to fucking bitch-and-moan when we do get tables. I mean, what the fuck is this all about?
"So-and-so is making all the fucking money! They're getting tables left and right; what the fuck is going on here? I've only had two deuces--fuck!"
"What the fuck? Now they give me a table? I don't even wanna take it! Fuck this shit! I just wanna go home!"
That--right there--is a standard conversation held by a schizophrenic psychopath waiter/waitress.
We're all crazy; take notice!
