I started working in food service when I was 16 years old. I bussed tables. I would steady my bus bin on my knees and move the waitress' tips under the steak sauce. I did a quick count of what I thought was there while I wiped down the table — the bills splayed open like a deck of cards. Sometimes, I could feel the waitress watching me, itching to get back and inspect the amount. Would she make rent this month? Would she be able to go out tonight? Would she buy that new toy for her kid? The...READ FULL ARTICLE »
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