sex, fries & videotape.

15 Aug

Something really interesting about the restaurant business is that it elicits lots of romances, many of which last for about 8 minutes in the back seat of a car parked next to the dumpster at work.

What is it about this industry that makes people want to take their clothing off for one another?

At first glance, you figure well, if you put a bunch of people who are the same age-ish in a room that they can’t leave for 6 hours, then it’s inevitable that sparks might fly. Except what about the uniform? It’s less than flattering. All the girls wear men’s shirts and the men wear aprons that look like skirts. The guys don’t shave and the girls don’t wear makeup or brush their hair unless we force them to. So what’s the attraction?

Is it the inevitable workout of a busy night that causes all of the touching and sex talk and massages? Is it the undeniable sexiness of a sweaty Salvadorian covered in black bean dip and fry oil that gets those juices flowing? Is it the allure of an eerily empty restaurant and recently mopped ladies room that makes people want to go at it?

But then I delved further into the general pickup practices of the Normal People population. When the workday is done for you, the 9-5er, you hit up happy hour and that’s where you find somebody to fuck, then you go to bed. But in the restaurant business, when you’re done with work the next stop is normally bed because you’ve worked well past happy hour and all the good flings are off the table. So you need to find someone before you leave work, and thus explains the swinger party that is a restaurant staff. Essentially, a dinner shift at the restaurant is one very long, very sober happy hour. Unless it is an all female or all male staff, and then it’s like total misery for the single set.

Don’t think that my restaurant is some sort of exception to an otherwise angelic group of foodservice workers. People have been fucking their fellow waiters and line cooks for eons. This sort of stuff happens everywhere from Pizza Hut to Pastis. If you think I’m the first owner’s kid who married a kitchen guy because the hanky panky went too far, then you’re just plain crazy. And if you think that Harry’s the first kitchen guy who I adored, then you should really consider reading my blog a little more closely. Because HELLO I went through puberty in a restaurant. Do you know what that was like for my raging hormones? Plus bedding the owner’s kid is like literally winning the Heisman Trophy of the restaurant industry. Harry scored bigtime (so did I).  I’m surprised he isn’t endorsed by the Food Network! Why does Guy Fieri have a show and not my husband? What the hell? Who’s daughter did he get???

In case you’re wondering about the “videotape” in the title of my post, the reasoning is twofold. For starters, I’ve got this newly single liquor rep who is OBSESSED with women, and today he kindly informed me that he only reads my blog if the title makes it look like the topic is sex. His recommendation for a title was “sex, lies & steak,” which is lame lame lame so I amended it to be far more hilarious. (I can devote quite some time to the “VENDOR-VENDED” hookup between someone like a liquor rep or dumpling salesman, which is quite unlike the waiter-waiter connection in that there’s a slew of mutually beneficial perks, but I’ll just stash that idea away for a rainy day.) Secondly, we have a closed circuit camera system at the restaurant which the smart people (me and Harry) have learned to navigate quite efficiently. And for the rest of the idiots, me and Harry basically have free porn.


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