Page 41 of Submit to Mr. Billionaire

But those dreams always seem so far away. For now, I'm stuck here in this restaurant, making minimum wage and barely scraping by.

Tonight, it's a full house at Blue Bar, the restaurant I work at.

I've been working here for nearly three months and every day I have to convince myself to be grateful I even have a job so that I don't walk my butt right back out the door upon entry.

I'm working another double tonight and my feet are killing me.

We're short staffedas alwayswhich means I get to run around endlessly waiting tables and serving drinks like a chicken with it's head cut off.

Oh and with a smile of course.

I'm approaching the last hour of my shift and I swear I can hear the door to the exit singing Hallelujah... Until a rowdy party of twenty walks in without a reservation.

My eyes nearly bug out of my head and I want to run for my life but I can't because my wallet would disagree with that idea and I owe my best friend rent.

Deep breaths… Deep breaths.I chant to myself as I walk over to greet the table knowing I have to roll up my sleeves and serve them all on my own.

I plaster a smile on my face and try to push aside my negative thoughts. After all, I have bills to pay.

My heart sinks as I take their orders, they aren't the friendliest group and I know that no matter what I do, they won't be satisfied.

But still, I do my best to keep a positive attitude and give them the best service I can.

Before long I'm bringing out their food and drinks, running in and out of the kitchen like a champ.

Suddenly, one of the women at the table that had a little too much to drink decides she wants to pick on someone and makes me her target.

"Ma'am… waitress… whatever your name is-" She says, snapping her fingers to get my attention.

"My name is Jennifer and what can I do for you?" I ask with a smile.

"Oh.. Jessica. My food is cold again will you please have them re-make it and add more sauce will ya?"

Her food is probably cold because she's more interested in throwing drinks back and by the time she realizes her food is still in front of her it's cooled down.

"Surely I can but they've re-made your food three times already, are you sure I can't get you something else on the menu?"

"Excuse me… You're asking me if i'd like a different meal? I asked for my dish to be made again, any waitress of good character would be rushing at my request. This is poor customer service. I just...can't." Fake tears barely make it out of the corners of her eyes and I stand frozen in disbelief.

What the hell just happened.

I'm not sure if this woman has over indulged in too much Tequila and it's the alcohol talking but she pinches the bridge of her nose and causes a scene.

I turn to see some of the members in her party start to glare at me like i've done something wrong.

I run to the kitchen embarrassed to have her meal re-made for the forth time.

I really don't get paid enough for this and i'm mentally and emotionally drained.

All I want in life is to have a camera in my hand, living out my dreams. I look up at the ceiling.Is that too much to ask?

Before long i've wrapped up cleaning the table after the dinner party left.

I'm thirty minutes over the time that my shift was suppose to end and i'm not staying here another minute.

I go to close myself out for the night when I notice the party of twenty only left me a whopping twenty dollar tip.

I bite the side of my cheek feeling like my head is going to explode at any given moment.

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