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If you work in picturesque Newport Beach as a Server at a trendy and popular two-story waterfront restaurant with white tablecloths downstairs and a lounge upstairs, you’re absolutely, positively going to have The Hipster Server as your coworker.  Who is the Hipster Server, you ask?  Well, let me tell you.

The Hipster Server (and, to some extent, the Hipster Hostess and the Hipster Chef) is a 20-Something (Generation Y) waiter or waitress who is a hipster, with all the glory and all the shame that being a hipster and being a waiter or waitress entails.  Since hipsters can never stop being hipsters, they bring all the trappings of the hipster lifestyle with them to work.

They leave for work from their trendy lofts in Seal Beach or Laguna Woods or the arts district of Santa Ana and arrive in Vespa scooters or fixed gear road bikes to work.  Their timing is erratic and unpredictable; hipsters, after all, cannot be bothered to wear anything on their wrists that actually tells time and cannot be creatively bound by the antiquated notions of punctuality and promptness.

Since Servers usually wear black pants, they will, of course of course OF COURSE, wear skinny black jeans as part of their uniforms.  They won’t tuck in their shirts and their aprons will always fall down their slender hips.  This is FACT.  Hipsters always have slender hips.  Any other parts of their bodies can vary; their hips, though, don’t lie—they’re always slender.

As you know, hipsters love coffee.  Here’s a brief list of a hipster’s favorite things as of May 2013:  (1) Music that nobody’s ever heard of.  (2) Ironic dancing.  (3) Coffee.  (4) Kickstarter.  Anyway, hipsters LOVE coffee.  They love coffee so much that they will bring coffee purchased from a local coffee shop into the very restaurant where they can get free gourmet coffee all day long.  (When the hipster’s a little short on cash, however, the hipster will still bring along his or her own personal creamer and Stevia-brand sweetener).  So they absolutely will not start work without coffee.  They need coffee.  They will prepare and manicure and cultivate a cup of coffee that they will sip throughout the entire shift.

While the hipsters start setting up the restaurant, they’ll inevitably talk about Their Band.  This is the point at which you start to really hone your ability to say, “Oh, cool,” and “Wow, that sounds cool” without having to actually listen to anything the hipster says.  Mind you, there are enough hipsters in the world where the hipster might actually hit it big in his band and sell a few vinyl records to other hipsters, so you shouldn’t be mean to your fellow hipsters.  Anyway, your hipster will probably invite you to one of his shows next Saturday night, the night when you make the most money.  That makes perfect sense; the hipster values money only for its ability to allow him or her to perpetuate the hipster lifestyle.  Anything more is simply inviting comparisons to the 1% (aka, their Parents and Others Who Pay For Their Trendy Lofts).

Oh.  I need to be absolutely clear about something.  Hipsters are NOT cynical.  They are not cynical in the us-versus-them mentality that we, The Generation Xers, are.  They are cynical in the it’s-hipster-to-not-care variety.  So they aren’t truly cynical.  Therefore, they’re actually quite cheery in dealing with guests.  They also have the benefit of youth on their side; unlike the 50-year-old grizzled veteran Team Captain with whom you work, they never worked during the glorious 1980s when people ordered multiple bottles of Cristal and trays of coke before they even had a first course and where they tipped 50% just to “avoid looking like I’m a part of the middle class.”  The 50-year-old Grizzled Veteran will never fail to tell you about how much he or she made back in the 1980s—”A $300 tip from a two-top!!  On a Tuesday!!”—whereas the hipster is quite happy getting $6 so he can purchase a Kogi Beef Hot Dog from the latest hip Food Truck.

Since the hipster is always still in school—usually his fifth year at Community College or his seventh at the local State School—the hipster will have to leave work early so he or she can write yet another paper on The Existential Crisis Faced by the Hipster Class in a Postmodern Society or The Importance of Using Bitcoin to Fund Bittorrent or something quasi-techno-philosophical like that.  So you’ll be spending a lot of time closing for the hipster, even though you have three other jobs and still don’t have the resources for vacations in Europe while the hipster somehow always has a dozen pictures from Bali or Maui or Bengali filling up his or her (extensive) Instagram feed.  Ah, Instagram….the opium of the Hipster.  The Hipster Dream.   The place where the hipster can find an outlet for his narcissism without that pesky need to actually express yourself with actual words.  Instagram is to hipsters what Woodstock was to Baby Boomers, without the horribly bad music.  Seriously.  Can I segue into how horrible the music of the 60s was?  Ugh.  The Doors?  More like Close The Freaking Door Because the Music Is So Bad.  Bob Dylan?  I call him Bob Didn’t You Know You Can’t Sing.  Har har.

So that’s The Hipster Server.  They want for nothing but a little scratch so they can buy another Moleskin Sketch Notebook and fund another Kickstarter project for yet-another-innovative-iPhone Charger or ironic Instagram printer.  They’re the ones who text their parents at work.  Seriously.  Who texts their parents at work?  That’s one thing I gotta love about Hipsters.  They do loooove their parents.  When I was High School, we all considered our parents to be part of The Man.  Not these Hipsters…..to them, their parents are just people who are a little less hip than they are.  They vacation with them!  THEY VACATION WITH THEIR PARENTS.  When I was a kid, my dad once drove my sister and me to Big Bear Mountain, grabbed some snow and put it in an ice cooler, and drove us back home.  True story.  That was what we called a family vacation.

I think I’ll go listen to Imagine Dragons and How To Destroy Angels now.

 

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