I look up at the clock, counting down the minutes until my shift ends at 11, counting down the time until I can quit this shitty job.
I make a lap around to check on my tables, annoyed by the patrons. I love living in this town, but hate the tourists that pass through it and frequent this restaurant. They are just here to do yoga poses in front of the beautiful scenery for their Instagram, cram into tour buses next to the other idiots, ride up the gondola so they can see the endless views of mountain peaks piercing through the clouds without working for it or experiencing any of the beauty along the journey.
I hate them.
My phone buzzes as I make it back to the station at the bar. I glance around for my manager and pull it out to see the notification: You have a new match!
I slip it back into my pocket without opening the app. I’ll save that for later so I have something to look forward to, even though I am sure it will be the usual disappointment: some flubby old guy on a corporate outing or a frat bro just looking for an easy lay.