Six Feet in the Right Direction By Jeff K

I am not a smart man.

Nor am I observant of the surroundings which extend further than a three-foot diameter around my body.

I wait tables in a corporate setting, and part of the deal is interacting with people from all walks of life without saying anything stupid, even to the ones who deserve it.

So, whenever anyone asks me how I am, I just say some bullshit like, “Livin’ the dream!” or, “Another day in paradise!”

Makes me throw up in my mouth. So I had to change it up. Something new and fresh so my coworkers wouldn't hate my increasingly fake, sarcastic stock answers.

It was one day at the restaurant that a large party had come in after a funeral. I knew they were there, in the back of my mind.

I knew.

But that didn't stop my brain and mouth from not communicating.

As the party was finishing up and leaving, I was just outside the front beverage station, this large party slowly passing by and on their way out, when one of my coworkers asked me how I was.

“Six feet in the right direction,” I said, at first happy with my new response, but then mortified when I realized I was heard by no less than 20 people who had just come from a goddamn funeral.

Everyone got quiet. I knew. Immediately.

I knew.

“Hey, can you take care of my tables for a few minutes? I’ll be in the cooler, bashing my head against the wall.”


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Content Unrelated creator, passionate napper, mac & cheese connoisseur, grammar Nazi, sarcasm guru.

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