Waiter to the Rich and Shameless: Confessions of a Five-Star Beverly Hills Server Read Online Free

reflecting on the others who had fled the building when told of
a drug test.
    “Of
course, sure, no problem,” I replied confidently, my mind racing. Fuck.
    I
had an instant flashback to doing coke after work the night before at the bar
downtown.  Shit!  Well, nice try buddy , I thought as I said goodbye to
Aggie and her sweet smile.  I remember her saying, “We’ll be doing callbacks,
so expect to hear from us soon.”  Yeah, sure.
    “Okay,
it was a pleasure meeting you, Aggie, thank you.” There was nothing but smiles
from everyone as I left the coolness of the building and was slapped in the
face with the LA heat.  The air was so thick you could practically eat it with
a spoon.
    Once
I reached my car, I looked back at the beautiful property I was leaving behind.
I closed the car door and started yelling, “Shit! Shit! Shit! What the fuck was
I thinking? What kind of place is this? A fucking drug test for a bartender? 
Who the fuck would my employer be, the fucking Vatican?  Of course, I’ve got
drugs in my body!  I’m a goddamn LA bartender!  They should have a sign outside
their goddamn office announcing that mandatory drug testing would be required.
This was fucking entrapment! I’m gonna sue your asses!”
    My
rant over, I took a deep breath and got out of my car.  I opened the trunk to
grab an emergency cigarette.  Hell, I don’t even smoke any more, but when I get
all steamed up like this, I have to.  I let the nicotine rush to my brain,
momentarily numbing my nerves and soothing my mind .  The passion
surprised me; I hadn’t expected to care so much but suddenly I did. I wanted
this job but I was probably fucked before I even got a shot.
    As
my anger dissolved, I gazed down at the paper Aggie had given me when I was
leaving the HR office.  There was an address and a name of the clinic where I
had to go before they closed.  I still had a few hours, though.  Maybe if I ran
up and down the Santa Monica stairs on Adelaide Drive for three hours, perhaps
then I could sweat it all out.  Or, what if I drank a couple gallons of that
drug detox tea?  Maybe that would accelerate the process.  I said a silent
goodbye to the place and drove straight over to the clinic on San Vicente
Boulevard past the Beverly Center. Once again I could see that bus pulling out
of the station, leaving my sorry ass behind.
    With
my head hung low and kicking at the sidewalk, I walked slowly along San Vicente
until I reached the clinic .  I can’t believe it. Why didn’t I know this? I’m
so naïve; this is Beverly Hills – of course they’re gonna drug test me . 
When I finally walked into the clinic, I showed them the paperwork that Aggie
had given me and they photocopied my driver’s license.  I thought, Oh great!
Are they gonna share this with the fucking DMV?   I must have said it aloud
because the girl said, “No, we keep it confidential.  We’ll just inform the HR
department that you passed or failed and that’s all, no details.” 
    “Well
that’s a relief,” I replied, surprised that she’d heard me.  After the test, I
drove home to Valley Village where I roomed with two other guys.  We had rented
a house with a pool and the garage had been converted into a big music studio.
I plopped myself down on the couch and watched a stupid reality TV show
marathon for the rest of the night, hoping to forget that I’d screwed up a
great chance to change my life for the better.
    Finally,
bored shitless, I went to the computer, found a blog titled Diary of a
Waiter and clicked on it:
    The moment you are seated, in a
carefully choreographed ballet wherein I play the lead, we will meet. You will
not know the rest of the team assigned to your dining pleasure and comfort, but
their roles are also very important. But I’m the one who will pretend not to
notice your tears when your dinner date is late, the one who figures out what
you mean when your requests are vague to the point of incoherence, and I’m