Hot Servers

I came up with a new restaurant idea: waitresses in tight tops and short-shorts serving substandard food.  Subs, burgers, fries, whatever.  It’s not really about the food.  No one cares if the coffee is hot, as long as the server is.  I franchised across the Midwest at first, eyeing California, the capital of moral relativism.  I hired from three particular minority groups: the young, the dumb, and the pretty, an endless renewable resource.  Upon making my third million, I was sued for age discrimination.  I settled out of court for one million.  The plaintiff, a woman my age, took my million dollars, quit her dead-end job, and divorced me.