What Evil Lurks Among Us?

There are many dangers lurking in a restaurant. Something as simple as a melted ice cube on a tile floor can be almost deadly if it makes contact with the wrong kind of shoe. Or what about all those open flames in the kitchen just trying to light your apron on fire when you're back there trying to graze some free french fries? Or have you ever had the misfortune of the steam from a cappuccino machine shoot at you with its missile-like force and scald your arms? I tell you, it's a right crying shame that most of us don't get health insurance from our restaurant jobs seeing that we practically work in a combat zone. But the most dangerous thing in all the restaurant is an inanimate object that sits there just waiting for its chance to stab you with its steely point. It's the dreaded ticket spike. That bitch patiently waits until you stab a drink order as you are having a conversation with the bartender and BOOM! The side of your finger hits that damn spike and you have a cut for days that will only grow more irritated every time you pick up a lemon. How many times has this happened to you? Or is it only me because I am too often drinking at work and my depth perception is off causing me to misjudge where my hand is in relation to the pointy stabby sticky dagger spike? Hmm, I may be on to something there.

I propose we forbid these weapons in restaurants from this moment on. Why must our dupes be so violently stabbed when we are done with them? Why can't they be lovingly placed inside a glass? Or why can't they be gently tossed into a velvet-lined box? Must we beget violence by mortally wounding these poor innocent dupe checks by impaling them on a metal pole? They have served their purpose well and we repay them by puncturing them. And then every once in a while, our palm gets a piece of the bayonet action too. It's that damn spike. I think it's hungry for victims. It wants blood but it settles for paper, and when it sees its opportunity to get some waiter plasma it's gonna go for it. It's like a vampire bat; a steel vampire bat that sits on the bar covered in bar tickets.

Again, this may only be a problem for me and my drunk self. I think the next time I am at work, I will pay close attention to the spike and my cocktail intake. If I can make it through the night without a cocktail and that in turn results in a night of not drawing blood from the ticket spike, I will know the problem rests with me. The more I think about it, the more I think that I may be the only one who has ever been pierced by the evil bitch spike. I am, aren't I? This isn't really a problem for you, is it? Oh God, I'm a drunk bitch who stabs himself with the ticket spike. I think I need help.

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