Rumor has it that once upon a time there were six hokys.
You know what a hoky is, right? If not, please prepare for a not so brief or subtle definition.
Hoky: a quasi-substitute non electric vacuum cleaner contraption delivered express from Hell to the restaurants of this Earth designed to function as a carpet sweeper.
- Noun: “This hoky sucks.”
- Verb: “I already hokied my section! I know it’s hard to tell, but I pinky promise I did.”
Sometimes the handle is too long (or you’re too short) resulting in awkward use. The opposing scenario is even worse. You’re stuck with a short-handled hoky. What happens here eventually amounts to you developing the equivalent of Notre Dame’s hunchback. You can say things like: “Er, ow, aye, oi!” or “As I rise to my full height, the innocent ears of passerby are subject to the faint cracks of my spine and my less than concealed curse-er, I mean, groan. There’s no cursing in the front of the house, c’mon people..!”
I’m not sure what happened entirely… When I started a few months ago, I distinctly remember the existence of four hokys. Legend has it there were once six although I am now convinced that is merely an exaggerated myth.
Nonetheless, slowly, steadily, the hokys began to go away. Where to, you ask? I don’t know. Maybe Hell wanted them back – a recall, if you will. I suppose they were only half-decent anyways…clogged and full of hair. Oh, and they usually just spit the gunk out the back anyways so the spot I hokied 4.2 seconds ago is dirty again.
Wednesday there were only two and they were the short-handled ones. It physically pains me to say it, but I seriously fought to get one. It was like a race. A competition. Don’t you know that everything in life is a competition?! There are always winners and losers. I sure wasn’t about to succumb to loss. So, I planned it out and snatched one of those awful hokys before the other first-cut server.
To clean my section I was forced to push seven times as hard on that short handle all the while crouched over it like a calcium deficient hermit. Here’s the kicker: my section was booths. AKA: children. Sure, they might be cute, but if you can look beyond all that enticing adorableness you see those children for what they really are: selfish little beings that persist in dropping food out of their mouths onto either the floor or their sister’s hair. They insist on throwing crayons on the floor and it’s as if they get double points or something for stomping the red wax into the carpet. I sometimes shed a tear when they come in with muddy shoes. Pathetically, I fought for a hoky to bust my butt cleaning that booth filled section. It is embarrassing that this is my real life.
Come Saturday only one hoky remained. I’ll cut to the chase because I’m getting tired of adjectives and nouns. The ultimate culmination of Saturday evening: a server died. That’s what happened. Only one hoky. Nine servers. Four servers cut at the same time. One death. They were the obvious loser. When all of the employees on are working a double, things escalate real quick once the manager declares “Five chart!”
Rumor has it that once upon a time there were six hokys. There was no need to scheme for an essentially useless hoky and certainly no deaths. Basically, the dream. Could we ever return to such a time?
Featured photo courtesy of Unsplash.