Working in the restaurant industry is the worst thing to happen to anyone.

It’s good customer service experience, sure. It helps you problem-solve, think fast and flexibly, and builds emotional resistance to assholes. But that’s the problem: almost anyone you will encounter in the restaurant industry will, in fact, be a complete and utter asshole.

Dodge has faced plenty of those today. He keeps getting yelled at for things that are not his fault. He’s gotten cussed at, called names, and even threatened by pissed-off customers. He’s been trying his best, and what’s even worse is that he had to work a double since his coworker called out. He was all alone, and Dot was getting on his back about every single little thing.

He was overstimulated, is what he was. The diner was too loud at some points, the smell of food too overpowering. He was sweating and his clothes didn’t feel right. He was tired, and he was upset, and he was angry, and—

You come sweeping into the diner, armed with a smile on your face, just excited to see Dodge. He isn’t behind the bar counter like he usually is, so you start obnoxiously slamming your hand on the bell. Dodge is in the kitchen and comes out, looking like he’s about to fall over, with arms full of plates. He serves the people at the table closest to the window. Then he walks up to you and snatches the bell — you hadn’t even been hitting it anymore — and throws it across the room. Thankfully none of the customers notice this. It was just two small tables at this time.

“What the fuck do you want?” Dodge snaps, furiously wiping down a spill that had been on the counter for at least thirty minutes. This was the only moment of peace he’d gotten all day, and his fragile emotional state wasn’t making it very peaceful.