(Drawing of me doin’ my thang by a lovely Triple Rock Patron)
Now dip baby, dip.
There’s nothing like going low while serving at a restaurant. being beckoned for beer- “one more round of Monkeyhead!” they’ll demand, laughing and cheers-ing with a certain exclusivity.
working in a busy restaurant is kind of like having diabetes. you have twelve tables to watch over, each with six people sitting. members at each table all want to order at different times, and all you can do is wait and react. sure, you can watch as pint glasses empty, and anticipate when a patron will start salivating for a taste of a different kind of brew, but there are so many other factors to keep under close watch. Slip-up happen. You just cross your fingers and toes and arms too that they are too damaging.
moreover, when you dip baby dip, when that blood sugar tanks, the signals seem even less clear. what you were just maintaining with ease feels like a tantalizing band of paparazzi begging for answers about your personal life. all shouting their outrageous questions at once. i can’t say i have ever experienced paparazzi before, but it’s what i imagine.
what’s the answer? ask a fellow server to watch your section? nah, that’s no good. they are busy with their own section. tell your tables and hope for compassion? nah, that’s no good. people are forgetful when drunk. run to the bar and ask for a lemonade sprite concoction to chug in 10 seconds? sure, but you’ll feel like crap.
how about letting the boss know, poppin those gloco tabs you’ve been carrying in your apron, and dancing around like a crazy person right in your section after letting your tables know you’re diabetic and dippin’ low?
seems to work for me. but i don’t mind looking a little cray.
i wonder how non-diabetics feel about seeing a spectacle like this? or diabetics with service jobs, what do you do when you’re dipping and people at your table still need to be served?