In what can only be described as the most shocking news since someone decided kale was edible, we’ve found a rare gem in the dining underworld: a waiter who actually enjoys their job. That’s right, folks. Forget the eye rolls, the whispered curses in the kitchen and the silent prayers to just get through the shift. Kevin “Smiley” Johnson is a 25-year-old server at the Soggy Fork, where the ambiance is as lukewarm as the soup and the food is almost as questionable as Kevin’s unshakable optimism.
While most of his colleagues treat their shifts like a Dantean punishment, Kevin bounces between tables with the enthusiasm of a puppy that’s just been given unlimited treats and a pat on the head. Naturally, we had to meet this unicorn, who, against all odds, loves waiting tables.
Sunshine on a Plate
From the moment I stepped into the Soggy Fork, it was clear that Kevin was not your average dead-eyed server, surviving on scraps of dignity and bitter resentment. No, Kevin was practically glowing, as if the soul-sucking demands of food service had somehow recharged his spirit rather than crushed it into oblivion.
“It’s a dream job,” Kevin tells me, flashing a smile so blinding, I considered wearing my sunglasses. “I mean, what’s not to love? Every day’s a new adventure! I get to make people happy by bringing them their food; what could be better than that?”
What could be better than that? Oh, I don’t know, Kevin, maybe anything? Perhaps a job where you don’t get stiffed on tips by people who think “being pleasant” is an optional part of dining? Or a life where you’re not regularly asked, “Is the tap water gluten-free?”
But Kevin? Kevin loves it. He swans around the restaurant like he’s hosting the Met Gala instead of dealing with Karen #327, who’s furious her pasta is “too pasta-y.” It’s honestly unsettling.
An Attitude Nobody Asked For
Most normal humans in the service industry manage to suppress their murderous tendencies with fake smiles and suppressed rage. But Kevin is all about “authenticity.” When faced with a customer who insists their cappuccino is “too foamy,” Kevin doesn’t quietly plot their demise in the back while spitting into their coffee “on the house,” oh no. He glows. “I just love helping customers figure out what they really want,” he says. “It’s like a journey we go on together.”
A journey, indeed. Through the depths of hell and back, as they send you back to the kitchen six times because their medium steak isn’t exactly medium enough. When I asked Kevin how he stays so cheery in the face of such misery, he shrugged it off like the beacon of delusion he seems to be.
“Oh, you know, I just see every challenge as an opportunity,” Kevin says, apparently serious. “Like when someone sends their food back four times, I think, ‘Great! I get to make their day even better!’”
Most waiters I know would rather be locked in a room with Mariah Carey on loop than deal with a single complaint, let alone multiple. But Kevin? He’s like a service industry Buddha, completely detached from reality.
The Tipping Point
I had to ask about tips. Because, let’s face it, no amount of Zen can survive a 5% tip on a $200 bill. But Kevin, dear sweet Kevin, apparently doesn’t care.
“Tips aren’t everything,” he says with a smile that should be illegal. “I just want to make sure people leave happy.”
Well, Kevin, I’d argue that people leaving you happy should involve them throwing your well-earned cash in your direction, but apparently, that’s not how his chipper little mind works. “Not everyone knows tipping culture, and that’s okay,” he adds. “It’s about the experience, not the money.”
Right. The experience of working for below minimum wage while someone condescendingly lectures you on how their “artisanal water” should have been chilled at 36 degrees, not 38. But sure, Kevin, it’s not about the money. It’s about that warm, fuzzy feeling when your feet ache and you’ve been standing for ten hours straight. That’s the real payday.
The Colleagues Hate Him, Obviously
Naturally, Kevin’s coworkers are, let’s say, less thrilled by his whole “sunshine and rainbows” approach to service. “At first, I thought he was joking,” says Julia, a seasoned waitress who’s seen enough customer meltdowns to write a bestselling memoir. “But no, he’s actually that happy. It’s crazy.”
Dave, another waiter who clearly gave up on humanity around the same time the fifth person asked him if the bread was “locally sourced,” has a slightly less positive view of Kevin’s enthusiasm. “Nobody can be that happy,” he mutters darkly, glaring at Kevin from across the restaurant as the guy flashes a toothy grin at a table of toddlers flinging spaghetti like it’s a Roman orgy. “He’s either on something or he’s a government experiment gone wrong.”
To be honest, I think Dave’s on to something. There’s no way anyone’s this cheerful about waiting tables. It’s possible Kevin is some kind of highly advanced robot, sent to Earth to infiltrate the service industry and make the rest of us feel inadequate. Either that, or he’s simply lost his mind. Both are plausible at this point.
A Ray of Delusion
At the end of our interview, Kevin goes back to serving with a spring in his step and a grin that would make Cheshire cats feel inadequate. As I watch him tend to a table that has just sent back their food for the third time, I’m left wondering whether we’ve been doing it wrong all this time. Should we all be embracing Kevin’s deluded version of reality, where everything is wonderful, every customer is a learning experience, and no one wants to jump off a bridge at the end of a shift?
Probably not. But hey, Kevin seems happy in his fantasy land of good vibes and endless patience, so who are we to argue?
One thing’s for sure: while the rest of us crawl through our shifts like prisoners doing time, Kevin will continue to dance through the dining room, smiling through the chaos and turning every service disaster into an “opportunity for growth.”
And maybe we’ll find ourselves questioning if the true doomsday scenario isn’t an asteroid hurtling toward Earth, but a world filled with Kevins.
