Food Prostitution

Waiting tables is Food Prostitution. I give a little bit of myself away at every table and I am almost always well compensated for my efforts. By efforts I mean my ass busting. Food service is a full contact sport and it takes some real effort to seem as if the work is effortless. While it might appear I am sauntering through the establishment with poise, grace, bad-ass biceps and excellent posture it is more likely that I am parched, taxed, stressed and ready for a martini. If you don't realize this than I am doing my job well and you need to be mindful of that when tipping. That is, of course, assuming you would like individuals like me to continue providing fine dining experiences. Here is where my thinly veiled attempt to speak generally about the industry ends and I begin ridiculing the inspiration for this post. By inspiration I mean asshat. The asshat sleazebag that sat in my section last night. ATTENTION ALL SLEAZEBAG ASSHATS: There is an expectation that when you make it obnoxiously clear to your waiter that you would like to do the sex right there on the tabletop, you are required to tip the object of your desire very well. When, after having apologized for your inability to control your lust you exacerbate the two hour encounter by aggressively hitting on, "undressing" and propositioning this poor captive, that payment has at least doubled. This is written in the Social Contract. It is L A W. Apparently this dick has not seen a copy of The Contract or he is illiterate because he left me a shameful NINE percent tip. It will be unfortunate when that searing hot coffee ends up spilled all over his lap the next time he dares to subject himself to my wrath. On second thought, being such a cheap bastard likely means that hot coffee will be the most action his groin will see in a good long while.