For a long time now, I've held a theory close to my heart. It's not been especially formed, or well-articulated, but I am reminded of it every weekend, in every restaurant and cafe.
Hospitality experience should be a crucial part of every person's life experience.
Yes, you - the middle-aged white man who pushes his chair and his elbows out into the walkways, across other people's tables - you too should be a busboy. Yes, you - the mother of two under the age of 3 who you allow to run riot and ignore for long and involved chats about their deficits in their hearing, forcing the staff to become your babysitters on top of all the other jobs they do, and all the while complaining that your extra hot skinny cappuccino without chocolate is taking too long to arrive - you too should try running the floor in that manner, and dealing with the screaming and the mess that both the customers and the kitchen staff thrust upon your already groaning shoulders. Oh the list goes on.
But I require no divine retribution for your multitudinous sins, oh no. My prescription: a year spent in continuous hospitality employ.