September 2015

I used to work in an Italian restaurant in a small midwestern town. It was run by an Italian family. The father was the sweetest man you could ever meet. He was our dishwasher. His oldest son mainly cooked, while the youngest son, Tim, was the general manager.


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I work for a corporate chain so customers are not always of the best quality, but I try not to prejudge my tables because they seem to surprise me now and then.


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