There's nothing more exhausting than getting your work week's schedule on Sunday afternoon and seeing that you're scheduled for the Monday opener. Not only have you not properly rested in 5 years, but even with your 75% tips on the iPad, you can barely make rent this month… again. So far, being a server has only trapped you in a lifestyle of fatigue and chasing your own bills with irregular cash flow, swollen ankles, and a ferocious Karen biting at your heels all the time. Yet somehow you still love the thrill of dealing with psychotic customers– because everyone's entitled when they go to a restaurant, obviously– and your coworkers are starting to feel more like a family than your own bloodline at home. You see your coworkers more anyways, so it's only a matter of time before they become the Godfather of your first born. So you traded a regular sleep schedule for a surrogate 'family' of childish coworkers, sleuths, and highly functioning alcoholics.
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