Choose Your Own Misadventure

Instructions: Read each scenario and then choose your response, options denoted by capital letters. Each choice is contained in a paragraph, so after the paragraph, resume to the next scenario. Choose wisely.

Your alarm goes off at 8:00, and you’re startled awake from what feels like a mere 30 seconds of sleep last night. You didn’t get to bed until 12:30 AM because work let out at 11:45 and you showered when you got home. Now it’s 8:00 and your alarm is fog-horning at your hazy head, so you haphazardly jumble around until you find your phone and manage to touch the correct sequence to get the seemingly wannabe howler monkey to shut up. Your body is aching to roll over and resume its unconsciousness, but you have to leave for class in forty minutes. You…

Congratulations, you’re a responsible (albeit tired) human today. Maybe you’ll be able to take a nap after class, before work (but probably not). You eat breakfast like a champion, get dressed, and wander off to class.

Unfortunately, you never informed your alarm you were going back to sleep, so it’s under the impression that you’re satisfied with your alarm experience and no longer have service for it. However, you’re drifting in and out of consciousness, telling yourself in your foggy mind that it’s only been five minutes. Suddenly, you look at your phone and see that you have five minutes before you have to leave. You mutter, “Shit,” and roll out of bed, pee, and pull on some jeans before grabbing your backpack and jogging off to class. You didn’t have time to eat breakfast and you forgot to grab a snack, so your stomach whines and wails all morning until 3:00 when you’re finally done with class for the day.

Ah, free time. Well, more like free hour, because you have one hour before you have to get ready for work. What to do, what to do in that hour. If you were responsible, you’d tackle some easy homework and get it out of the way, but if you were normal, you’d sift through Facebook mindlessly, relaxing in a purgatory mindset. You…

After all, you probably won’t get off work until 11:30, and there’s no chance that you’ll be in any physical state to think at that point, so it’s best to get this minor stuff out of the way now. You sit down with your planner, and struggle to focus on your dull textbook readings. Nonetheless, you accomplish three tasks in your hour– less work for future you.

If you ignore the homework, it doesn’t really exist, right? Besides, you’re not in any condition to focus, and you went to class today, so you should reward yourself with back-tracking through Twitter so far back that you start thinking it’s 2015 again. Before you know it, it’s time to go to work.

You pull on your monkey suit, your stomach turning over with the pungent whiff of grease lingering on your shirt, and try to convince yourself that you’re not walking to your ultimate demise. As you head out to work among the bustle of fellow college students, you hear a pair discussing plans, and one suggests that they go eat at the restaurant where you work. You…

Anyone that visits your work place contributes to the death you feel in your heart–but alas, you choke down the heartache, and keep it to yourself.

Everyone around you is very taken aback, and there may be a fair amount of crazy in your eyes, but it all adds to the overall effect of your message. The pair turns around and looks at you, disturbed, and then shuffles away.

At work, you’re covering breaks, which means you get to do a medley of tasks while your coworkers each get 30 minutes to convince themselves life is still worth living. While covering the cash register, you begin to grow weary with the dull drone of orders, and, as always, there’s a long line wrapped around the entrance (and is that the couple I yelled at earlier in line?). The next customer steps up, and orders barbecue wings. Your restaurant has a variety of wing types, so you ask, “What kind of wings?” and the customer replies, “Barbecue.” You…

Clearly this person has not even glanced at your menu, so you let them know there are bone-in wings, breaded boneless wings, and grilled boneless wings. They choose bone-in wings and treat you like you’re stupid for asking, and you regret being kind and helpful to this clearly rude customer.

You ask them “What kind of wings though?” and they proceed to say “Barbecue.” You ask again, and they say “Barbecue.” So, ultimately, you choose for them. Idiot.

Next up is serving, which wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t entirely deal with customer interaction. As you approach a table bearing gifts of silverware, you begin to greet them, but immediately realize they are not willing to pay you a shred of acknowledgement. You…

Despite that they’re still completely ignoring you and hosting their own unintelligible conversation, you keep reciting your salutation, politely placing silverware in front of each customer. They don’t look at you once. You go to the walk-in cooler in the kitchen and scream.

You start out, “Hey guys,” but when you notice they’re not interested, you start over, “HEY GUYS!” A few of them stop talking and look at you disinterestedly, but a couple others are still going. You get a crazed desire for power and force the customers to engage with you, directly looking at the chatty offenders and saying, “EXCUSE ME, did you have any lemonades or bottled waters I need to get for you?” They look at you with large, roaming eyes like they’re disturbed you would ask them because they have no idea what you’re talking about. Assholes. You ignore their table for the rest of their stay.

At the end of the night, you’re covering a runner, which means you run food (imagine that). It’s a constant back-and-forth, going between expo window and table. For about the fiftieth table, you drop off their food, and the customer doesn’t say a word to you. You…

If you keep suppressing your feelings, perhaps you’ll go numb and work will no longer be painful.

You don’t care if any asshole in the restaurant gets their food or not, but despite that, you’ve been speed-walking all evening to make sure their food is received as soon as possible. Next time, maybe you’ll deliver their food to “the wrong table” because I’m sure the garbage can would be much more appreciative than that jerk.

Finally, it’s time to go home, and after the last stragglers that stayed in the restaurant way past closing eventually decide they’re tired enough to leave, you and your coworkers frantically roll all the silverware from the evening and regain your freedom. When you get back to your apartment, you…

You’ve worked hard today, kid, and you’ve managed to be the bigger person on multiple occasions. Sleep well, friend.

People are jerks, but you didn’t let anyone walk over you. Sleep heavy, champ.


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