A chorus of restaurant servers
identically dressed and carrying large round trays, robotically chanting
banal lines, ie: “Can I take your order, Sir?”, “Regular
or decaf?”, and “Thank you. Have a nice day.” Programmed
movements and intricate patterns based on Busby Berkeley film choreography.
Dominatrix Waitrix appears: “Now give me my fucking tip.”
The Servers, suddenly stiff and puppet-like, tumble like dominoes.
The Dispatcher’s Headquarters: The center of a vast surveillance
network and restaurant worker rescue service with live video feeds of
disgruntled servers. At the switchboard sits The Dispatcher - an alluring
and commanding pimp-daddy in furs.
Dominatrix Waitrix is bold and cunning and clad in leather. She works
for The Dispatcher. They flirt and flatter, banter and bicker. They are
played by the same performer.
The Dispatcher sends Dominatrix Waitrix out on missions: to clone herself
as Server Clients, to take over their miserable jobs long enough for them
to have a break while still receiving tips and paychecks for the hours
worked by Dominatrix Waitrix. This is a free service. We never learn The
Dispatcher’s motivations. We do, however, learn the motivations
of Dominatrix Waitrix.
Dominatrix Waitrix exists as a human clone. She is amorphous, multi-gendered,
and immortal. The only human quality she owns is an extremely powerful
libido. She chooses the bodies of vulnerable servers and preys on their
puppet-like customers. Her only concern is to give and receive pleasure
and pain.
One bold and buxom waitress wishes to keep Dominatrix Waitrix under her
spiked heel. Dominatrix Waitrix fancies the red-headed mortal, but in
the end, who will hold the whip and who will wear the handcuffs? |
