I was legend. I was dynasty. I was legacy.
But before all of that, I was rookie. I was young and naive. He crept up from behind me, and said "My guest totally gave me head in the bathroom just now." What a sordid little place. The management was no better than the guests. This was a place fueled by gossip and hearsay. I learned that the hard way.
I was legend.
The management was tyrannical. This place is Nazi regime. They turned us into robots. We clock in and slip on our masks. We were hallowed husks of our former selves. "Fuck all of these people," said Mindless Server Drone Number 22 as she wrapped silverware and folded napkins. Our jobs were to feed the trough for the pigs to eat. The pigs would then leave a dollar bill on the table for our trouble. We clock out and get drunk.
I was legacy.
But I was rookie first. I was subordinate. I was kicked around. I was hazed. I left with 80 bucks in my pocket every night feeding the pigs. Delivering their slop. I felt like a prostitute. "Service with a smile" was our motto. Our masks were broken, torn and shattered. None of us wanted to smile for them. We had to. We were collective elite. The best of the best. They were my brothers and sisters.
I became their leader.
I became their crusader.
I became pariah.
We all vied for the ultimate prize. To be immortalized. "I want to become an expert!" said Mindless Server Drone Number 3. She was part of the collective elite. She was my best friend. To become an expert was to become elite in the eyes of the Regime. To become an expert was to gain power. To become an expert was to become legacy. To be part of a sacred society of corrupt egomaniacs.
I wanted it.
What a sordid little place.
[end of Part 1]