I Spit in Your Food

I work in the food service industry. That is what my resume says. In reality I’m a guy standing behind a sneeze guard with a hair net that only partially covers my hair and a stain covered apron that was white at some point in existence.
My resume goes on to say that I am involved with food preparation. That means that on occasion I help cut potatoes for the mashed potatoes (we don’t even bother peeling them) and place food into a deep fryer. More on that “food” in a later post.
What my job entails is mostly being the face for the kitchen, a smiling, helpful face that must give you the impression that I am reaching near orgasmic satisfaction from dumping your food into a container. The worst part is, some customers actually seem to expect that the act of serving their every hunger oriented need should bring me the greatest joy known to exist.
I call that bull crap.
At least not out loud. Or around my bosses. I like having a job, it pays the bills. Paying bills is a good thing.
Why am I in such a job?
One that pays minimum wage.
One that makes me wear a smile all day.
One that makes me take bull crap from customers all day.
Because I can spit in your food.