first blog ever, about anything

and i wind up blogging about being a south jersey diner waitress. most days i wake up and i'm completely surprised that this is the life i've found myself in. me, once an independant, self employed small business owner, have found myself living the daily tragedy of waitressing in various diners up and down route 130 in south jersey. i cannot even call myself "a server". fine dining just isn't exciting enough. no, i have chosen the hard road.....as in "hon, ya need a topoff on the coffee?", as in reciting the 6 soup selections and the soup dj, as in watching the ever dwindling elderley cliental study the BluePlate specials for 15 minutes and finally decide on the Chicken Parm with 2 vegetables instead of pasta, knowing i will run around the kitchen warming up bread, ladling up soup, screaming at the busboy that i need more 1000 island dressing, traying fruit cups, soup, salad-which is served off a salad bar every single server has dug through all day with their bare unclean hands fishing for the "freshest least wilted pieces of lettuce, bell pepper and intact cherry tomatoes" in all of south jersey. then i put the order in. the entire kitchen staff is mexican with the exception of a greek who is dubiousley related to the owners, all of them either unable to speak any english that is not on the menu, who enjoy working 14 hour days at $10.00 an hour and all the food they can shove into their mouths between dropping fries, broiling "seafood" and making a club sandwich. toasting bread requires a waitress to run the bread through twice, guarding the precious cargo with your life or the mexican servers will steal it for their order, the heat blasting off the toaster into your face, butter smeared all over your fingers, face and apron and the floor, everywhere but the toast. meanwhile listening to the dishwashers chattering on their prepaid cellphones to their wives in mexico while the busboys set up whore nite at the casa on other prepaid cellphones, and the "chef/baker" is leading the cheer of queres comer? every time a waitress walks into the kitchen. queres comer means "want eat?" and they ain't asking if we want a sandwich. the hostesses are the unlucky teenage daughters of the greek owners, who having been raised in a strict greek family are not allowed to date, have social lives or friends, but must report to work where they help run the family business by screwing up the seating, favoring the mexican servers, who after all are getting the job done by racing thru the kitchen like its a soccer field, dropping condiments all over the floor, stealing toast, cole slaw, salad dressing and whatever else they may need that is available in order to get the food to the table as quickly as possible. fuck the other servers who had the foresight to toast the bread, get the dressings, begin to set up their trays. and forget about complaining to the management/owners. they have no policy playbook or rules. other servers are usually found either taking calls on their cell phones, texting their drug dealers or laying up on the end of the counter playing scratch off lottery tickets. i think i am going to look for another job. i heard another infamous diner may be hiring. wish me luck