What a sordid little place.
There were no rules.
We watched blankly at the screen in the kitchen to see what was ready to be delivered to the pigs waiting at our tables. Us waiting on them. "I can't take this anymore. It's driving me crazy!" cried Mindless Server Drone Number 27 as she ran into the kitchen. Tears streamed recklessly down her face. Her psyche crushed into a million tiny little pieces. She ran to the freezer room to vomit. It was hard to witness.
It made my stomach hurt.
The management team were gods of their domain. Corrupt titans of the industry that often turned seldom seen peace into chaos. Constantly changing rules that were never there. The experts were their underlings. Masters and commanders. And then there was us. The slaves. The robots. The mindless drones.
What a grim little place. "Service with a smile" was our motto. None of us wanted to force smiles for the pigs. We all had to. "YOU ARE NOT SPECIAL" was written in big bold marker on the wipe board as we made our way to leave the kitchen. No encouraging words. "We are not special" we said quietly to ourselves when we left the doors at the end of our shift.
Let's get drunk.
And forget everything.
The experts were the underlings of the management. Second in command. We obeyed them. Their word was law. We were mirror images. They carried badges on their chest to signify the honor to their code. "I've been one for almost 8 months now. Maybe one day you'll get to be one too." boasted Expert Number 5.
It was a busy night and the kitchen was fucking up. Again. I thought back to the beginning of the shift. The experts were preparing us for the night with reassuring words. "We are here for you," said Expert Number 7. "We are your friends. You can come to us if you have any problems." said Expert Number 4. "We are here to help you." they all said together.
This steak is too fucking overdone! Yelled guest number 37. I ran upstairs to find the first expert I could find. "I need your help," I pleaded. Expert number 7 was a brazen haired beauty worthy of a magazine spread. She sat idly at one of the tables admiring herself in a mini sized mirror she had in her hand, "Fuck outta he with that shit!" she yelled. Her voice boomed throughout the balcony area. "I got my own problems to deal with!"
I was left with an extremely irritable guest and no dollar for my trouble.
The gods were the ones who chose who they wanted to corrupt and brainwash to do their bidding. The experts. They were police. They were nazi. They were regime. They were Gestapo. With ties of red and shirts of black. They wore aprons with the emblem. Badges of silver with their namesake.
The experts were power. Unholy fists of lightning. They were greed. They were sloth. They were vanity. They were wrath.
They were untouchable.
They were immortal.
I wanted it.
I wanted everything.
What a sordid little place.
[end of Part 2]