***WARNING: If you are a waitstaff member in the greater Los Angeles area and see a 7-footer with bowling ball shoulders enter your establishment, take off your apron and call it a day.
Thirteen bucks an hour is a small price to pay to avoid having a fucking plate shattered over your head for not putting enough bacon bits in a Cobb salad. I don’t care if the customer is worth a quarter billion, unless you got Ratatouille in the kitchen whipping up something delightful, tell the powers-that-be at Applebees that you can’t work because you have diarrhea and cozy up to the bar with a couple $1 Blue Long Island Ice Teas (incredible deal) and watch a colleague get body slammed through a table for not knowing if the croutons are gluten-free.***
Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: Dwight “Cheryl” Howard.
Dude what the fuck is that? Like how do you even describe it to Stevie Wonder when he cut if for you?
I’ve heard of “Speaking to the manager,” but this is “Picketing outside corporate office” level.
It’s a relief to know that I’m not the only one whose brain this cut broke.
Jesus dude, it’s not that serious. Have one of my $1 Blue Long Island Ice Teas and take a deep breath…