Unfortunately it is located in the heart of suburbia Massachusetts. This means bored housewives who don't cook, frustrated husbands doing their wives bidding, and spoiled children. (Some may argue I fall into the spoiled child category, but that is neither here nor there...)
After several months "working with the public" (read: judging the public), I have come to realize--in the eyes of one judgy ex-boyfriend--I am but a mere peasant serving their every whim.
I will re-emphasis, I am a hostess. What could I possibly have to do that is so outlandish "serving" the "upper class" (read: if they were richer they would eat somewhere fancier), you ask? Don't I just seat people at tables and give them menus? Yeah, I was disillusioned and thought that when I started working there, too.
The customer is always (read: never) right. I mean the customer understands how to run a restaurant ("You know, the old owners didn't do it like that! This is what you should do!"), how to seat the dining hall ("I see empty tables! I can sit right there!"), how to execute the waiting list and reservations ("I arrived here before them, and they were just seated!"), and cook all the food ("But the chef should be able to cook that item that used to be on the menu 3 years ago! He knows me! I'm a regular!").
If this offends you, then you're probably one of THOSE people and I discourage you from reading further. Go ahead and call 781-XXX-XXXX and order a side of rigatoni with extra cheese, extra sauce, hot oil and extra bread (total cost: $3.16) and do tell me to hurry!
Enjoy the anecdotes and insults thrown my way. I laugh at it (after a glass of wine or two), so I hope you can, too.
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