Personal Narrative: Working In A Restaurant

I was going to graduate in six days. I had another job already lined up and had decided this was going to be my last day working in a restaurant. Waiting tables defiantly should not become your career. I see people all the time that do it for a living and cannot fathom how they are able to put up with people seven days a week. I serve at a Mexican restaurant, and it has been one terrible experience after another. It was constant forced smiles at rude patrons, cleaning up after messy eaters, and poor tips from people who had already over-stayed their welcome; until my last day arrived.
My last day started with a genuine smile. I stopped to get lunch on my way to work, and when I arrived they claimed I was ten minutes late. I just thought to
“It would be a waste. Of the 20 pieces they grab only two would make it to their mouth, and the rest would make it seem like we just had newlyweds walk through. We aren’t hosting a wedding today. However, if you insist on the rice I can bring it with a side of broom and dustpan.”
In the end, they angrily decided against the rice and I successfully avoided a mess.
My final table was occupied by two nicely dressed young women; which wouldn’t have been a problem if they had left when we closed. They obviously were catching up each other on what must’ve been at least ten years of unshared experiences. After eight refills and two trips to the restroom apiece, I decided it was time for them to go. Our restaurant doesn’t have much of a policy about after-hours customers, but we defiantly have one when a fire is involved. I went into the back and made myself a nice hot fajita skillet and sat it closed to the door leading to the dining area. I poured a cup of cold water on it which made a large amount of steam that followed me around as I yelled, “Fire!” The two women quickly grabbed their things and made a mad dash for the door. The best part is that they both left me 30% in the midst of their