Hostess Cat: Death by Rolls

I quit the restaurant job last week. Tuesday was my last day, and yet, strangely, it felt like every other day at the host stand: Painful feet. Boredome. Elicit trips to the busboy closet to stuff rolls in mouth. 20 minutes cursing on the subway platform. You know, hell.

What did I gain from the experience? 5 pounds.

What did I lose? The ability to wear pants.

A Google image search of the word “hostess” basically describes, in pictorial form, what this job entails:

If only they had let me:
a) play with a football at the stand
b) wear a nightgown like the lovely lady to above.

I was there until 2 in the morning, so one would think multi-purpose apparel would be condoned. However, it was not.

I could not sleep when my circadian rhythm said, “SLEEP!”
I could not sit when my lower back said, “GODDAMMIT!”
I could not read when my mind read, “VACANCY.”

WHAT, my friends, are the perks of being a hostess?

(silence in the cyber-sphere)

This cat is flat on her back, and has forsaken the ROLL of hostess. Never again my friends. Never again.

Rosie (the Cat)

MeKnowHowNow

1. You know the aphorism, “You are what you eat?” Well it’s true.

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