Thoughts from the Hostess Table

After being in a pandemic, living in the darkness of my haunted house, and letting my once juicy, voluptuous buttocks decay into the folds of my bed, I have landed the coveted job of being a hostess at a brunch spot.

Never in my life have I felt such power and authority. As a hostess, you are the face of the restaurant; the first person the guests interact with, the beholder of the waitlist. You wield your trusty iPad like a shield, defending yourself against wives and millennials who wish you harm due to the fact that you just said, “Hey welcome! How many in your party? Two? So it looks like the wait is going to be about two hours. What’s the party name? Awesome, and a number we can text you at? Great, thank you, we will send you a text as soon as we have a table for ya.”

They press on, “Well why can’t we be seated now, there are so many tables open,” but you never give in to their demands, you make them wait in the hot sun in anticipation for overpriced pancakes for as long you want, because you can … and because the official California COVID- 19 restaurant policy is a serious bitch.