The Ed Sullivan Theater lost it last night when Jennifer Aniston, 56 and somehow more radiant than ever, dropped a truth bomb so relatable it broke the internet before the first commercial break: she was once the world’s most catastrophic waitress, and the only thing that kept her from getting fired every single shift was one legendary, multi-purpose little black dress.

Stephen Colbert, welcoming her to the final-season couch with the reverence usually reserved for presidents, kicked things off innocently enough: “Jen, before Friends, before the hair, before the tabloids, what was the worst job you ever had?”

Aniston didn’t even hesitate. “Waitress. Hands down. I was catastrophically bad.” The audience leaned in like she was about to confess to grand larceny.

“I worked at a place called Jackson Hole in Manhattan, big burgers, loud music, zero mercy,” she continued, already laughing at the memory. “I spilled an entire tray of milkshakes on a family of tourists from Norway. They were wearing white. I tried to mop them with napkins while crying. They still left me a twenty-dollar tip because they felt sorry for me.”

Colbert’s eyes went wide. “Hold on. I was a waiter too! In Chicago, at a place called R.J. Grunts. I once dropped a tray of salads on a first date, lettuce in the guy’s lap, ranch dressing in the girl’s hair. They got engaged anyway, sent me a thank-you note.”

Cue the screaming. Two of America’s most beloved stars, both former walking restaurant disasters.

Aniston doubled over. “Did you have the uniform that made you look like a rejected flight attendant?” Colbert nodded solemnly. “Brown polyester vest, mustard-yellow tie. I smelled like fryer oil for three years.”

Then Aniston delivered the knockout punch.

“But I had one secret weapon,” she said, pulling up an old Polaroid on her phone and holding it to the camera: a 22-year-old Jen in a tiny, stretchy black tube dress that looked like it had been through three wars and a music video. “This dress. It did everything. Waitress shift? Black dress. Audition in the morning? Same black dress, throw a blazer over it. Date I couldn’t afford a new outfit for? Black dress. Spilled ketchup on it? Turn it around backwards. It was indestructible. I wore it so much the hem started unraveling and I just safety-pinned it. That dress paid my rent.”

Colbert was crying with laughter. “You had the One Dress to Rule Them All!” Aniston nodded. “I buried it in a time capsule in 1994 when I booked Friends. It deserved a state funeral.”

The host then stood up, walked to a drawer in his desk, and pulled out a framed photo of himself at 23: same black stretchy fabric, clearly borrowed from an ex-girlfriend, tucked into ill-fitting waiter pants. “I HAD THE EXACT SAME DRESS!” he yelled. “Mine was from the sale rack at Contempo Casuals. I called it ‘The Career Dress.’ It went from serving Cobb salads to my very first improv show. I spilled beer on it, red wine, someone’s marinara. It never stained. It was made of dark matter.”

The audience was in hysterics. Aniston wiped tears from her eyes. “We should start a support group: Survivors of the Multipurpose Black Dress.”

Colbert raised an imaginary glass. “To the dress that saw us through minimum wage, heartbreak, and the invention of the Rachel haircut.”

Aniston raised hers back. “And to the fact that we both got fired for being terrible at the exact same job, yet somehow ended up here.”

The camera zoomed in on the two of them, side by side, giggling like old war buddies swapping stories from the trenches. Then Aniston turned serious for half a second: “Honestly? Those awful shifts taught me more than any acting class. You learn timing when you’re balancing eight plates and praying not to drop soup on a baby.”

Colbert nodded, suddenly soft. “And you learn that if you can survive a Friday night dinner rush with a broken tray and a smile, you can survive anything Hollywood throws at you.”

The crowd gave them a standing ovation that lasted a full minute.

By morning, #BlackDressSurvivors was trending worldwide. Contempo Casuals (now extinct) saw its vintage listings on eBay skyrocket. Fans flooded both stars’ Instagrams with their own photos of “the one dress that paid the bills.” One viral post from a server in Ohio: “Tonight I wore my 12-year-old black dress to work and didn’t spill a single thing. Thank you Jen and Stephen for the blessing.”

Aniston later posted the Polaroid with the caption: “To every server, bartender, and human who ever safety-pinned their dreams together with one magic dress, this one’s for you. We made it.”

Somewhere tonight, in attics and storage bins across America, little black dresses that once smelled like fryer grease and desperation are being pulled out, held up to the light, and saluted.

Because if Jennifer Aniston and Stephen Colbert can go from worst waitstaff in history to late-night royalty, maybe the rest of us still have a shot too.

All because of one indestructible, spill-proof, backwards-wearable, rent-paying miracle of 1990s lycra.