Secret: when I worked as a waitress at the Loring I got suspended, as far as I can tell, for apathy.
They’d seen me apply myself, carrying so much down the stairs at one time; I wasn’t doing that anymore.
I was setting up the mezzanine and writing poetry in the dark with the red Christmas lights, looking down on the snow-covered city streets.
Only half caring if someone caught me, taking no measures against it. Having nothing to lose: in the end, too common an attitude for a waitress.