Source: Flickr / pieterdirkx
Once when I was a waitress, which was a terrible job in the place I was living at the time and made me very miserable after a few weeks of sheer joy at having a job at all, this group of 50-somethings came into our restaurant.
They overheard some of the ~conversations being had with me at other tables, and at one point, I stood off to the side behind the partition for the hostess to take a breath and fight back tears.
That table of 50-somethings, who must’ve seen the stress, started tipping me - each time I visited them, and with their dollars folded into complicated origami shapes. A bowtie, a unicorn, a dog. Without fail, one by one, whenever I refilled a drink or fetched another plate of something, I’d be greeted with a joyful origami dollar and happy chit-chat.
Before they left, the lady at the head of the table touched my forearm and said, “You’re doing a great job. Don’t let it get to you,” and left.
Little bright spots like this have seen me through everything.
There is no god in my life. Only the kindness of strangers.
(via memory-hole)Source: zuuzanna
Apparently there’s something wrong with the way I pronounce my own name. (Taken with instagram)