Written by Stephanie Kleanthous
Illustration by Laura Buckell
It says it in the name
I must be hospitable
Stuck in this game
And it’s fucking abysmal
On minimum wage
The tips are critical
The floor is my stage
My apron: pitiful
‘We come here for the girls’, he says
Ogles me and signals
I take his order, enraged
With no place to get political
He wants me to engage
But he makes this job dismal.
Am I expected to rejoice
When told ‘good girl’ explicitly?
‘Does your number come with the bill’, he toys
I laugh at his delivery
I pretend he’s just noise
And continue my complicity
I must maintain my poise
Ignoring this toxicity
I’m left with the choice:
A tip or my dignity
Silence my voice
Or call out his bigotry
But the words my mouth enjoys
Don’t pay the bills sufficiently.
