Service. With a smile?

Okay.

I'll just divulge what I do. I'll just put it on the table as, I dare say, I put over medium eggs on plates. I'm a server at an outrageous family-orientated restaurant. I like to think I'm an honest-to-God bartender. I make good money for the store, considering I'm doling out pancakes and extra syrup. I figure if I'm going to blog, I might as well blog about my mundane, but maybe your entertainment.

Take a look at my job's latest ad campaign.

Last weekend I'm serving this two-top(I'm also going to have to publish a glossary for the lingo). This deuce is an older pair, I'm guessing mid fifties-early sixties. Denny's has place mats. Said place mats suggest that a "real breakfast isn't served with a spork."

Now check this. Mr. and Mrs. Matlock look up at me confusingly as their coffee arrives, "What's a spork?"

Fuck me running.

I bounced this story over to one of my favorite baristas and she suggested this.

You guys got served.