It was 12.45am on a Saturday when the server lost his soul. He was pouring a glass of Paolo Bea Sagrantino di Montefalco 2003.

He became aware of a difference in himself. Though he tried, he could not make himself care about the customers or the job, nor for that matter about the food itself. He simply didn’t care.

THE DAY THE SERVER LOST HIS SOUL BY JOSEPH LAMPE 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 13

It was 12.45am on a Saturday when the server lost his soul. He was pouring a glass of Paolo Bea Sagrantino di Montefalco 2003.

He had arrived at 4.30pm like every other day. He grunted his hellos to the lunchtime crew and headed for the back. He changed his shirt in the dim hallway/locker room, amidst the heavy aroma of freshly cut basil and body odor. He pressed himself against the wall to let the kitchen staff by. He noticed as he buttoned up his white shirt fresh from the cleaners, that last week’s wine stain had not come out completely. He went back upstairs to the dining room and made himself a cappuccino.

Coffee had always been one of his great pleasures. Even in the darkest hours at the restaurant he had always take…