Keep in mind that this was during our exec's awkward pizza lunch.

I ran the wedding for the sister of the guy who staged with us today. Toronto's a small town.

I did not just have a conversation with my chef about midget bestiality. No siree, nuh uh.

I did ask him if midget genitals were scaled anatomically, or if little people drag their dicks around everywhere they go.

He was speechless. Thank goodness for being weird.

FOUR WEEKS UNTIL VACATION. #THECOUNTDOWNISON

And by vacation, I mean we're closed. And I will sleep. And likely eat a lot of pizza.

Killing a little time during shift #2.

Dear Santa: Please bring me patience, strength and a winning lottery ticket in January.

Worked a private party tonight for 20 at a house w/property taxes higher than my annual income. Easiest bank ever. #stackpaper

Your server’s mind —Step 1: Get your damn Starbucks cup off the table. Step 2: Hello, can I start you out with something to drink?

I don't know who thought it was a good idea to schedule me for NY Day brunch in the FOH, but bless them for thinking I am capable.

I haven't carried a tray in over a year. I predict spilling and rage over too many Caesars.

86 every last fuck.

I smell like blood, sweat and beer.

Only I could slice myself with a julienned carrot.

I was smart enough to take out the garbage bins before it started to rain ice. My heart goes out to the crews picking everything up tonight.

The veg delivery guy thought I was a frail waif of a thing until I hauled 3 bags of potatoes down into the basement.

I smell like garlic, ginger and shallots.

Seeing shit like this on Instagram hurts me.