…at the (Irish-y) burger joint in the first floor of a historic hotel that I now work at:
1) A(n old) (white) lady says her grilled chicken breast is too tough and that her knife doesn’t cut well and when she tries to cut it her tray shakes.
2) My one (blonde) (make-upped) (college-age) coworker’s (young) (tight-bodied) dad is in to see where she works one more time before she transfers schools and leaves next month, and as I pass through “the server alley” my one (make-upped) (Eastern European last-named) (master’s student) coworker is “girl talking” with my one (younger) (plumpish) (hair streak-dyed) (mid-Southern) waitress coworker and she’s whispering that he doesn’t look like her dad, he looks like her boyfriend or brother, and I hear the word “hot,” too, as I pass by, it's like everyone wants the hot dad.
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