No Respect

What started out as a respectable Friday evening with a nice dinner in Tremont and an art opening somehow ended up with me crawling out of a minivan with only a mattress in the back at 4 a.m. Don’t worry the minivan belonged to a friend and the mattress, well I am still not sure what that was doing in the back. It was one of those nights when you say, “Oh okay but just one drink. I don’t want it to be a late night.” This is the curse of death. Soon all your friends are showing up at the Garage Bar as you close the place down and head to breakfast. This brings me to the point of this blog entry, though not in a very succinct manner I might add.

On Friday night at 3 a.m., I witnessed the worst job in the world. A job I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy: working the third shift at a 24-hour diner. How horrible would this be? Your work consists of waiting on drunk people after the bars close as they order the weirdest combinations of food, ordering in slurs and passing out by the time the food comes. Of course everyone at my table was sober and none of these things happened to anyone I was with (ahem), but it was quite a sight to see around the restaurant. You would have to be the biggest masochist in the world to take this job. On Saturday morning Mindy described this job as, “Hell on Earth.” I would have to agree with her.

What an interesting ten hours Friday night turned out to be. I went from ordering a respectable dinner at South Side in Tremont to ordering saurkraut balls at a 24-hour diner, only to have my friend drop us off out of the back of her minivan at the crack of dawn. Seriously, next time, just one drink.