First of all, I would like to apologize to my thousands of fans across the country for not blogging in a while (Seriously, can just one fucking person click on this…please? #prayerhandsemoji) Okay, back to business.
For those of you who don’t already know, I work as a seating host at a steakhouse a few nights a week. I do this job so that I can write during the day and fund an unlimited amount of american cheese quesadillas. Last night, after clocking out and going home with a ribeye carcass stuffed in my pocket, I went to sleep and entered the magical world of dreams. This dream started out to look a hell of a lot like my real life. So in essence it became a nightmare pretty quick.
The beginning saw me standing at my host podium as a family of four approached. They asked for a table (no reservation) and I obliged them with a suicidal smile, four menus, and the enthusiasm of Frodo taking the one ring to Mount Doom. The journey to their table began.
I led them through the bar and weaved them past the chefs. We braved our way around the bussing station and fought on past the bathrooms. But once their table on the patio came into sight, it vanished. The resteraunt around us fell away to become a harsh and desolate wilderness. Menus still in hand, I pressed on.
The two kids were the first to die. They froze to death from the severe cold. The ironic part was that I had some crayons in my pocket to keep them busy as they succumbed to frost bite. The parents went next. A pack of wolves caught up to us and showed me that I’m not exactly Liam Neeson from the The Grey. Now alone, I pressed on with my menus to eventually reach the restaurant that resided upon the rainbow laden horizon. I was fired.
I have absolutely no idea what this dream means. Is it a metaphor for my own life? Is this a bad omen from the heathen gods that torment us mortals that toil away in the purgatory of the serving industry? Who the fuck knows. A side note – I gave my two weeks notice today. Stay tuned.