I mean, this has to be a joke, doesn't it?
I'd been warned.
The Chef's son, a server, perhaps mid 30's, coming in to work, first off telling me he's still drunk, been doing Ketamine, so drunk AND high, and the rest of the night goes as you might expect. He's not concealing it well, garrulous with the tables, forgetting things, he's going on about a little tattoo he got with a couple at the bar, a small one, his dad thinks it makes him look like a prisoner or felon, it's just like a SMALL tattoo, why can't his father approve anything, and now he's going off "IT's NOT LIKE I'M A HOLOCAUST DENIER"...
In his addled state he finds this hilarious, repeats it ad nauseum, the night passes.
Fuck I hate my life at the moment.
There's a book in there some where, "The responsible, articulate and reasoned child of wealth and privilege", fiction, nobody would believe it...