Too Broke to Quit

She’s too hot to handle and too broke to quit, a lifer slinging plates and side-eye in equal measure.
Tips barely cover the sins she soaks up every shift, but she shows up anyway, hair flaming, bones rattling, coffee blazing.
When you see her coming, pray your order’s right, she’s got no time for your ‘extra ranch’ bullshit.
She survives on caffeine, cash, and the quiet pride of never walking out mid-rush.
Salute her, or get out of her section.

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Throw it on for the morning rush. Peel it off after last call and a whiskey or three. Heavy enough to say: you outlasted the chaos.
Pure cotton, thick enough to soak up spilled drinks and hush last night’s bad decisions.
Seams that don’t give. A fit that moves but never slouches.
Cut by rough hands. Worn by the servers and bartenders who never clock out ,ever.


For the walk-in chill or a whiskey wind-down — heavy enough to say you made it.
100% cotton (grey’s a mutt, but faithful).
Thick to beat fryer smoke and regret.
Tough seams. Honest fit.
Made by workers. Worn by lifers.