NEWARK, NJ -- The BOH boys at Plate of Dishpair, in an attempt to break out of the service industry and become an international phenomenon, have been pooling the tipouts they get from the servers and bartenders. After six months of scrimping and saving, they’ve decided that it’s finally time to put their big idea into action: a website dedicated to entertaining people who work in the service industry, i.e. everyone they’ve been working with for years. They’ve already bought a URL formerly owned by a Ukrainian organ harvesting operation, learned how to create a text box in HTML, and started a Facebook page for their brainchild. “Like, I get that they’re funny, but I don’t think it’s ever going to work out for them,” Trisha Ives, bartender and human being with common sense, told Sauce On the Side. “What are they going to do? Try to be like The Onion or something? That’s never going to happen. There’s no way they’ll be able to make it past two hundred followers on Facebook without some help from FOH. If I’m being honest, our line cooks suck at using social media.” Since beginning their venture, the kitchen staff has managed to spend their entire runway in about two weeks, mostly on the booze they pound as they “brainstorm” ideas. Despite all this, the faith they’ve placed in the mutual suffering that bonds all restaurant workers has been unwavering. Thomas Parker, one of the creators of this really stupid idea, has been trying to generate as much interest from servers and bartenders as he can. So far, he’s only managed to find one of each who didn’t have anything better to do. “I really think that this going to work,” Dawson Pesto, co-idiot, said. “Everyone who’s ever worked in a restaurant has seen some crazy shit. Think about what everyone does when they get off the clock for a second. They talk about the shift they just finished. We’ll just take that everyday occurrence and ramp it up a little by giving people clearly fake last names and stuff. We’ve been hovering at like ten people a week visiting our site for a while, and we’re almost up to 300 followers on Facebook. So I think we just might be able to pull this off.” As the weeks have stretched into months, their waistlines are thinning faster than their profit margin, or lack thereof. For some reason, however, they’ve persisted in digging themselves deeper into the hole. Moonshot ideas like eventually having enough cultural relevance to push hard for raising the minimum wage, calling out shitty restaurant owners who treat their employees like shit, and shaming customers into treating restaurant workers like the human beings they actually are, have been the only thing sustaining them. To the dismay of everyone they’ve managed to trick into meeting with them, the BOH boys have decided that they don’t give a shit about being profitable and instead have chosen to focus on looking out for their coworkers. “Oh, the thing the kitchen’s been working on? Yeah, it’s pretty cute,” Amanda Bynes, former childhood celebrity and current employee at Plate of Dishpair, scoffed. “There’s no way anyone’s going to send them any ideas for posts like they’re thinking is going to happen. Everyone knows that servers, bartenders, and cooks are lazy as shit. I bet the whole thing falls apart before they hit a million visits to their site.”
DALLAS, TX -- David Finch walked into Gilded Confine an 83-year-old man who had just eaten an edible for the first time. After spending five minutes counting out the 5 dollars he needed to pay in order to access the buffet, Mr. Finch slowly waddled his way over to claim a plate. Obviously stoned out of his gourd, it took the elderly ex-marine around 45 seconds to decide where to begin his feast. “I think it’s--hold on; can I put ice cream on my french fries?” David, eyes completely cached, wondered aloud. “I don’t think they let you get more than one plate at a time, so I’ll just put the chicken on the jello. Wait, honey BBQ sauce?” The ramblings went on for the entire duration of Mr. Finch’s dining experience at Gilded Confine. Every time an employee came up to refill a hotel pan full of some unimaginably cheap, somewhat edible entree, David couldn’t help but ask: “Do you guys hate me?” Despite multiple reassurances from literally everyone on the clock that day, he still wasn’t convinced that they were being honest with him. “Man,” he said. “I just feel like they don’t like how much food I’ve got on my plate right now. I feel bad about that, you know? That really bothers me. I should tell them I’m sorry again. It’s weird; I had a brownie that my nephew kept in his fridge, and ever since I left his apartment I’ve just been a little off my game today. I should try and make things right with those good people up there. Maybe that’s why I’ve been feeling so bizarre.”
MIAMI, FL -- Rather than using the steady stream of customers that have been seated at his bar all day to bring in tips like any other bartender would, Conrad Laremy has been spending his energy attempting to get them all to leave as soon as possible. In utter dismay, he watched as the kitchen crew and three of the servers, finished for the night, walked up to the bar and asked for their usual shifties. “This is total bullshit,” Conrad, making a bloody mary at 11:30 pm, said. “It’s my Friday night too. Why can’t these customers take a hint and get the fuck out of my bar? I just want to get wasted and try to hook up with Cindy again. It hasn’t worked out yet, but I feel like the six months of effort I’ve put in are really starting to wear her down.” Entirely focused on his wasted efforts to sleep with a coworker, Mr. Laremy has tried everything he can think of to get off the clock as fast as he can, including: claiming that, because the bottle opener behind the bar is broken, he can only serve beers on draft, insisting that any out of state ID is fake and refusing service, and hiding all the shot glasses so that none of his coworkers can get too drunk without him. None of these efforts have been able to ebb the tide of patrons, however. “Seriously, I’m about three seconds away from cutting everyone off, just because I can,” Conrad told Sauce On the Side. “If these dickhead customers cock block me I’m gonna be pissed.” He has yet to realize that, because he’s been such a dick to everyone, he’s made about twelve dollars in tips. Which might give him enough runway to buy Cindy one drink. Provided she actually follows him to a secondary location after he gets off instead of immediately going home as she has for the past two weeks.
GREENSBORO, NC -- The entire kitchen staff of I’m Brewding were well on their way to being completely wasted, in a weekly ritual often referred to as “Tuesday.” Unbeknownst to them, a bachelor party sitting at a booth on the other side of the restaurant took notice of how hard they were going and collectively decided to outdrink them. The group of former frat bros are four hours into their one-sided competition and beginning to regret their choice. “My bro Phillip Phallus and I thought it would be fun to drink those posers over there under the table,” said Chad Derekson, nodding off. “So we went over and bought them all like six shots in a row. Then they just downed ‘em all right there. It’s not like I’m going to lose to those bitches, but I think this is worse than rush week and spring break 2014 combined, bro. My man Chad 2 is totally passed out in the booth right now.” The kitchen, on the other hand, is in the middle of a deeply philosophical argument about the right way to close a to-go box. It has been going on for twenty minutes and shows no signs of slowing down. The line cooks, unaccustomed to kindness from former fraternity members, aren’t quite sure what their game is. “Those dudes are actually alright,” Oscar Castillo, finishing his twelfth Bud Light of the night, told Sauce On the Side. “It’d be nice if they’d stop coming up and saying: ‘Another round, pussy?’ every time we come up to the bar, but I’m not gonna say no to free booze. This must be what it’s like to be a hostess. Anyway, this Bud Light is pretty much water. As soon as those guys pass out, die, or get shoveled into an Uber, I think we’re gonna stop by the liquor store on the way to my place. We’re all gonna watch Chef tonight and talk about how no one in our family understands how hard we work.”
MESA, AZ -- Clark Bronson, self-proclaimed badass, regularly performs feats of incredible strength and dexterity while on the clock at The Jaeger Bomber, a local bar and restaurant one strike away from being shut down for serving minors. Everyone on staff knows that when a big top walks in, it’s Mr. Bronson’s time to shine. The expo stares in awe of Clark’s ultra-masculine and cool ability to carry a ton of plates at the same time. “That guy is one of the flyest guys I’ve ever seen,” Marsha Jimenez, Clark’s manager, said. “Sometimes he doesn’t even use a tray to run food to an 8 top, and we’re all just so impressed when that happens. With a gift like that, obviously, Clark is the most eligible bachelor in the restaurant. I can’t think of anything sexier than a guy who can take an inconvenient amount of porcelain from one location to another without dropping it.” Anytime a server hears Mr. Bronson’s hopelessly vain shouts of “Corner,” they step aside, begin clapping, and wait for their hero to emerge from the expo station. “Who, Clark? Coolest guy I know,” Dave David Daves IV, a line cook and fanboy, told Sauce On the Side. “All of us in the kitchen just think he’s the shit. We’re totally jealous of how many things he can hold in his arms. We all know just from watching him work that his dick must be huge. We’re all getting matching tattoos of his face in the hopes that he notices us.” Clark, due to the fact that he’s busy “crushing it day in and day out like a natty ice can on his forehead,” has yet to have been reached for comment at the time of publication.