How is it only 7:00?  I swear I’ve been drying these glasses for an eternity.  Barbacking isn’t my favorite thing.  I was supposed to host that night, yet when I walked in the door I saw the new girl at the reservation book.  So I took my less money/hour spot behind the bar.

I’ll give it another shift before I put in my two weeks, I don’t want to get too ahead of myself.  It didn’t really matter though.  The damage is done, I am officially tired of my job.  

If you had rewinded back to the past summer, I wouldn’t have believed you.  How could I ever quit this job?  With every shift I became more and more sure of it.  The day I tried the walnut pasta I had my heart set on never leaving.  

It was a warm summer night when my manager set the dish on table 19.  The bowl of in-house made pasta covered by a thin sauce and walnuts, which I would then learn to not eat.  The texture was too crumbly.  

John and Bobby walked over to sit next to me, my boss and one of the only other teenagers who worked there.  Both were complete strangers to me.  They sat down at 11, which is oddly enough right next to 19, and started talking.

I stared back at my bowl, I hope they don’t think I’m eavesdropping, I thought as I listened in closer to their conversation.  The conversation started off tame, graduation, college, and moving out.  All which pertained to Bobby and very little of which pertained to me.  I can’t join their conversation, even if I want to.

I sat eavesdropping for a little while longer, but then I noticed a change in topic.  John began the story of his senior prank, an old story containing tools and a principal’s coveted Volkswagen Beetle.  I turned my head to match my attention.

As the minutes passed John recounted his favorite stories from when he was younger, especially around the ages of Bobby and me.  All while Bobby and I sat like kindergarteners at library storytime.  

I went back to work that night smiling, all because of that fifteen minute break.  I could have been paid nothing to finish clearing tables.  Stories over walnut pasta were all I needed to convince me that this job was worth it.

What happened to me, why can’t I just be happy here anymore?  Did I change, have I been a poor worker?  Is my attitude not right for the job?

But then I remember that I no longer sit at 19 and laugh over the stories and advice that my coworkers have to give.  I seldom get to enjoy dinner at work, and when I do I eat it in the servers station.  Because the people I used to share stories with are gone, and the warm atmosphere disappeared with the summer weather.  Instead I feel the cold tired spirit that winter brought into what was once my favorite job.