The work I do is a dying art. The world of formal dining can be daunting to some. I'm not a waitress, I'm a server. My job involves a list of members of The Club* that use the establishment for everything under the sun, including weekly mass. I deal with disgusting pigs who feel they are entitled due to their bloodlines and/or how much money they have. I also deal with people who genuinely care about myself and my co-workers. All of this is on the surface and can be observed by anyone who walks through the door.
What isn't seen is the craziness that goes on behind the scenes. The majority of my co-workers are female, three quarters of which are over 50. One would think that when dealing with older women that cattiness wouldn't exist and wisdom would emanate through the halls... You would be wrong. The following posts contain the blabberings, blubberings and down right stupid things that transpire each day. Be forewarned, this blog quite possibly will lower your I.Q.
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