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Life is only what you wonder.

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Life Is Full Of Toil And Blunder

Didn't forget about the ol' blog, but posting on here had to kind of take a back seat.
I've been picking up extra shifts and working my days off to prepare for vacation which begins Thursday night.
I'm so tired, but it will all be worth it.

What are we doing? I'm so glad you asked!

The 1st of April is G. and my anniversary - 7 years together.

I will pause to let the magnitude of that set in.

So Thursday night, we're headed to my friend Josh's timeshare in Myrtle Beach where we will spend three luxurious days probably doing nothing more than relaxing in the hot tub and making love as much as we can.
We really need this.
We need time off together, out of Baltimore, and away from our lives for a little while.
Not that life is Hell by any stretch, we just need a change of scenery.

Then after that, we're headed to Thomasville to spend a couple of days with my Mom, who I'm kind of worried about.
Ever since Dad passed away she's been living alone in that house, all isolated.
Of course, I try to call as much as I can and let her know that I love her and that I care, but I know she's lonely, and aside from her sisters (most of whom live far away and have families of their own) I'm all that she has.
I know she's looking forward to our visit, and so am I.
I miss her, too.

Anyway, I probably won't be posting 'til sometime after I get back, but you never know, I might slip an audio post (or two) in here.

So until next time . . .

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Take A Look

When, for the third time the other day, a group of attractive guys was seated on the opposite side of the restaurant from my section, I made a point to say something to the hostesses.

"OK," I said to them, "Here's the new rule: All cute guys get seated on this side of the restaurant. You don't have to seat them in my section, just as long as they're close by."
"Why is that?" Nicole asked, "Are you trying to cheat on your husband?"
"No, I just like to look at pretty things, that's all."
I could tell by her puzzled expression that she didn't understand.

Maybe it's a guy thing, to want to look at sexy people, even if you're not planning on doing anything. Even if you wouldn't do anything if given the opportunity.
It's why the men go to the strip clubs, or dine at Hooters. A guy who goes to those places knows the chances of him taking Excentrica the stripper or Staci Lou the cute li'l waitress in the hot pants home with him are slim to none. That's not why he goes there.
He goes there for the eye candy.

So yeah, I look. I probably look more than I should.
For example:
A really sexy guy was seated in the section opposite from mine. He was with this rather plain (in my opinion) girl, and they were obviously dating.
Anyway, this guy was gorgeous. Could have been a model for International Male.
So I looked.
Hell, I stared.
I couldn't take my eyes off of him.
Well, the girl he was with caught me looking, but she thought I was looking at her, so she started doing those things that girls do when they think someone's checking them out: playing with her hair, looking over her shoulder and batting her eyes. (That wouldn't have worked on me even if she looked like Heidi Klum, but she didn't know that.) Well, it took her awhile, but she finally figured out I wasn't looking at her, but at her boyfriend, and she was furious. If looks could freeze, I'd have been a fruit-flavored popsicle.
Which (of course) makes me wonder: Why was it OK for me to be looking at her, but not her boyfriend? Was she pissed 'cause I wasn't attracted to her? I don't get it, but I'm not going to lose any sleep over it.

I don't know about you, but I like to look at beautiful things.
Doesn't mean I don't love my husband. Doesn't mean I'd jump Mr. Gorgeous' bones if I had the chance.
It's my opinion that no matter what your status, if you don't look, you might want to check your pulse.

Friday, March 17, 2006

At Least I'll Be Wearing Green

I have to work tonight, so no green beer for me.

And I know, without even having to text someone who's at work to check the list, that I'm going to be in a bad, bad section tonight.

AndI also know that the corned beef their serving at work will be overdone, and the cabbage will be limp, soggy, and tasteless.

But at least I can wear a my green (Abercrombie & Fitch) shirt instead of my normal work shirt.
That's at least something.

Happy St. Pat's!

Monday, March 13, 2006

Who's That Guy?

I've never seen anything else he's done, but I first noticed Eric Balfour when I saw the (rather pointless, in my opinion) remake of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre not too long ago.

This guy has everything that I like. You can't tell by the photos I've posted, but he has a killer smile and big beautiful brown eyes. You can (easily) tell, though, that he's built like a brick shi outhouse. Very manly, muscled, and strong looking, but not overtly so.
But look at that tiny little waist! (The better to wrap my arms (or legs) around, my dear!)
He's got the mustache and goatee thing going on, but that just makes him appear devilish and mischievious and even more appealing.
(Bad boys are HOT!)

There's no telling where his career will go from here, but I'll be keeping my eyes open to see more (literally!) of him in the future.

Friday, March 10, 2006


Had some guests last night that I remembered waiting on before.
Now let me tell you, I wait on so many people. Hundreds upon hundreds a day. Their faces all blur together in such a way that in as little as a week, I won't remember at all.
If I've waited on you and I remember who you are, it's for these reasons and these reasons only:
  • You're a regular customer who I see every day or every other day, or otherwise pretty frequently. I know the names of all my regulars and greet them with it. ("Hey, Mr. Harold! Good to see you! How've you been?")
  • You are an evil mutant. You were a facist tyrant with nasty demon children that should have been strangled at birth. Evil mutants are engraved upon my memory like the searing hot scorch of a branding iron.
  • You are exceptionally good-looking. If you look like a greek God that fell from Olympus, I'm gonna remember you.
    Or . . .
  • You failed to leave me a tip.
That's about it.

Now, these people weren't regulars, they weren't mutants (or at least they daidn't act like mutants), and although the guy (it was a young guy and his pregnant girlfriend) wasn't ugly, he wouldn't have made the cover of any magazine, so they must have fit into the last category.

Here's my strategy for dealing with folks that don't tip that I happen to get the chance to serve again.
My service is generally good. Even when my section is twice as big as it should be and there's a line out the front door, I manage to give adequate service to all my guests. There are some exceptions to this, because nobody's perfect and some people can't get enough no matter what you do.
So if I get stiffed, it's insulting. (Back when I first started waiting I had a party of 20 that left me three dollars in quarters, nickels and dimes and I actually went in the back and cried. I don't cry anymore, because they're not worth it.)
Anyway, a guest stiffs me once and I get the opportunity to wait on them again, I'll give them the benefit of the doubt. Maybe they were short on cash that day. Maybe I took too long bringing that glass of water they asked for. Maybe the steak was dry and overdone (not my fault, but meal quality does affect tips to a certain degree). It could be any number of things and chances are, I'm not gonna know what the reason is.
I give them extra special service the next time. I'll give them such good outstanding service they will feel like dog doo-doo if they don't leave me something. They will feel like something on the bottom of someone's shoe. I'd estimate that 90% of the time, I get tipped exceptionally well. Last night I did, too. A 40% tip, not too shabby.
I turned it around.

You stiff me twice and get seated in my section a third time?
God help you.

Monday, March 06, 2006

It's Not About What Happens, It's How You Take It

Yesterday, when I was at work waiting tables for Sunday Breakfast, the host Q-Ball (his name's Quentin, but I call him Q-Ball) was seating a group of three in my section. Just as I was about to zoom over and introduce myself, Ron, who was working the section right next to mine, swooped over and said to them, "You want to sit in my section? It's right over here." and ushered them to his area.
This is a no-no. It's called "stealing tables" and it's not really fair. The host (or hostess) seats by rotation so that everyone gets an aqual number of tables. Ron already had two parties he was waiting on, while my section was totally empty.
Suddenly, everyone's up in arms about the incident. Another wait confronted Ron and got into an argument (right in the middle of the dining room) about what happened, saying it wasn't fair, and it got really heated for a few moments there.
I, on the other hand, wasn't going to let it bother me for two imortant reasons. For one, going all ballistic wasn't going to change the situation or help matters any, and two, I knew Q-Ball saw what had happened and would seat me more frequently and with better quality people than he would Ron.
And I was right, Q-Ball hooked me up. While Ron had his three little parties, my section was filled.

"How could you let Ron disrespect you like that?" one of the other servers asked me.
"He didn't disrespect me -- because I didn't let him," I replied, "I'm not going to let the fact that he's a jerk ruin my day, that's all."
Blank stare.
I swear, the worst thing is how people just don't understand where I'm coming from. That bugs the hell out of me more than anything else.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand.
Nobody can make anyone feel anything. Ron can't disrespect me if I don't allow myself to feel disrespected. Nobody can put me down unless I allow myself to feel put down. Nodody can ruin my mood-- or my day --unless I let it happen.
"He made me feel guilty because I didn't call when I said I would." No, you let him make you feel guilty. Should you feel guilty? That's not really for me to decide.
I just don't let crap like that get to me. Letting someone make me feel guilty, upset, angry, or depressed is giving them power over me, and that's not cool.
'Tis a far, far better thing to focus on what I can do to make the situation better (like taking extra special care of the guests I do have to make up for the table I "lost", for instance).

Anybody who has the attiude "I ain't taking no shit from nobody, nohow" has to be constanly on guard, from the cashier who shortchanges them a dime, from the whithering glance of a receptionist, to the words (or tone of voice) of anyone they encounter, ready to confront even the slightest of idignities. Anyone with that sort of attitude must be exhausted all the time or have killer migraines.
That sort of never-ending battle I just don't have time for.

Friday, March 03, 2006

Don't Go Away Mad

My manager cornered me as I was walking in the door yesterday. This is always bad news of one kind or another. She never does this to tell me something good.
"Is everything OK with you?" she asked.
This wasn't what she really wanted to ask, though. This was the warm-up question.
"Uh, yeah. Everything's fine," I replied.
I didn't ask why she was asking because I knew she'd get to that anyway, and why waste my breath?
"The reason I'm asking is because you totally flunked the latest Mystery Shopper Report. They said you didn't greet them properly, didn't give good service, didn't give them a tray of mints with a comment card and you didn't thank them and ask them to return. That's totally not like you. You aced the last five Reports, so I thought something might be wrong."
"No everything's fine. I can't imagine how that happened," I told her, "I'll make sure that never happens again."

Yeah. OK.

I remember that table. Two evil women with their two mutant children. Bitches came at me wrong right from the start.
I go to greet them and I'm all, "Hi! My name is . . ." and the one woman was like, "Someone needs to wipe this table down better, it's sticky. We both need a glass of water NOW and we need bibs for the kids!"
Dammit, let me at least get my greeting out of the way before you start barking orders at me. Actually, now that I think about it, I never did get my greeting out, because every time I tried I got interrupted.
At first, I gave them the benefit of the doubt.
"Maybe these people aren't really evil," I told myself, "Maybe they're just having a bad day today."
But as time passed, the truth became clear to me. Yep, definitely evil, all right.
And they were acting like they were the only table I was waiting on. Hello? Can't you see I have seven other tables and they would like some service too?
But when the one bitch raised aloft her cup of ice and shook it and then snapped her fingers at me, that was the last straw. Don't snap your fingers at me, I'm not a dog. And don't raise your glass at me unless you're proposing a toast.
"Those bitches can die of thirst," I thought to myself.

Because it's all a question of worth. Is the measly couple of dollars those bitches might (possibly) leave me worth the aggrivation of having to endure waiting on them? No, I'm worth alot more than that.
So they were Mystery Shoppers? Who knew? And so what?

I'm the best there is at what I do, but I can't do my best if someone won't let me.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

"It Ain't Natural!"

You might be interested in this short video about a graphically homophobic sermon by Rev Willie Wilson of Washington DC.

It's a fitting memorial for the passing of Coretta Scott King, who never lost sight of her husband's belief that an injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.