Sweat from the brow

Oil from the eggs

A sizzle of a sausage

A curse in your head

The tapping of impatient fingers rings through the café

As every part of your body screams “go away!”

A checking of a watch as the oven sings it’s done

You plate up, give their food, but they don’t look impressed

You did everything right

It’s them who are to blame

But the customer is always right

And in the kitchen you’re their slave