And Then You Stop and Think...

So there you are. You’re sitting alone, in the privacy of your apartment. Something you see on television, for some reason, makes you think “Hm. I wonder if I know all the words to ‘God Save the Queen’?”

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you suddenly find yourself standing in the kitchen, hands either folded primly at your waist or making some dramatic gesture while you’re singing ‘God Save the Queen’. The pros? Well, you just proved that you do know all the words to the English national anthem, for some reason. The cons? You just stood in your kitchen all alone singing a national anthem. Even worse, this was on your day off: this was how you ended up spending a portion of your free time. That’s even more embarrassing then dancing around your apartment singing show tunes. At least a scene like that sometimes happens in rom-coms. And dancing around singing mainstream music? Thanks to ‘Glee’, people might judge you for NOT doing it.

But no. You chose ‘God Save the Queen’. Whether this shows you’re secretly a monarchist, or simply have an uncanny memory from all those Remembrance Day services you’ve attended, we’ll never know.

To make a long story short, I had a very uneventful Saturday.

Adventures in Waitressing, Part I

“Um... Miss, this isn’t what I wanted.” the older woman remarked, holding up her appetizer-sized Greek salad and regarding me with disappointment.

I frowned in confusion. “You ordered a Greek salad to start, right?” I asked.

“Yes, but I meant a bigger one!” she exclaimed, as if I was a moron for misunderstanding.

“Ohh, you wanted a MEAL-SIZED Greek salad to start, then?” I asked, not caring if she thought me rude- perhaps the next time she goes to a restaurant, she’ll be more clear with her orders.

She nodded slowly, looking at me as if I was a mentally challenged six year old. I apologized, taking the offending salad away from her. I returned to the kitchen, contemplating murder as I ordered her the large salad- dressing on the side, of course. Meanwhile, the group’s meals (having already been sent back to sit under the lights because of the salad debacle- the gentleman just cannot eat his meal before he has eaten his salad, you know) are ready and waiting. I beg the kitchen staff to put fresh fries on the plates and to re-grill the meat. If this table sent back anymore meals, I would snap. (And snapping on the elderly? Not only bad for karma, but not the best way for me to end my illustrious serving career.)

I apologized to the woman on the salad line, and requested a rush on the salad I just punched in. She rolled her eyes, but complied.

I brought the salad back to the table, knowing in my gut that something else would be wrong. The woman looked flatly at the huge salad, then back at me. “Could we have some extra plates for this, please?” she asked.

My eyes couldn’t help but dart to the four side plates already on the table- brought with their rudely demanded bread. However, it’s not my job to argue. I nodded and left them. I took a moment to check in on my other six tables, hoping to get back to my usual multi-tasking self. I collected some dirty plates, printed a couple bills, grabbed a refill and two small bowls and headed back to my section. As I returned to the offensive table, salad bowls in hand, I saw the woman had already made use of the sideplates. She gazed at my offering sadly. “It’s too late. Really, Miss, tonight your timing has been... less than impeccable.”

Having two bills to drop off and some meals waiting in the kitchen, all I could do was mumble incoherently about the size of the restaurant and how she wasn’t my only customer before running away. I dealt with my leaving tables and both of them stiffed me. What a wonderful night. I decided to just drop off the main meals of the rude people and be done with it- once they had everything I could just ignore them.

I could feel a nervous twitch starting up in my left eyebrow. If I had to take much more abuse, I wouldn’t be able to keep myself from snapping. I took some deep breaths and stood in the kitchen, waiting for the meals for my final table to pop up. It was then, standing there, sipping Diet Coke, that I realized: in all my rushing around for a certain other customer, I had forgotten to punch in my last table’s order.

Attempting to stay calm, I ordered their food and stalled by dropping off starter salads, as if this long of wait was normal. Once all the meals were dropped off, I was given a welcome reprieve in the form of a lull in business- I had no new tables. I huddled in the back station of the restaurant, out of sight of my customers, sipping Diet Coke. I wished I had something stronger. I wished I had nicer customers to interact with. I wished I wasn’t a waitress. I wished I was at home.

Then, suddenly, the night was over. Sure, I was still working- I had a few more tables, there was my side duty and roll-ups to do, but all difficult customers had paid and departed. The rush was over. I took a moment to breathe- a moment where I wished I had cigarettes: the perfect excuse to go outside and take a few minutes to yourself. But though I was without an excuse to go outside, I was done dealing with people. I could be myself.

500 Words A Day Challenge - For Writers, Librarians, Editors and Bibliophiles

500 Words A Day Challenge - For Writers, Librarians, Editors and Bibliophiles: "- Sent using Google Toolbar"

...um. I hope that worked... I really need to learn more about how to post images and how to do neat things. After all, the Internet is a visual medium more often than not.

In any case, the image I attempted to post (allowing anyone interested to click on it and go to the site I went to and therefore perhaps take the challenge for yourself) is my personal goal- (yes. I found someone else offering it. so I'm copying.) I want to write at least 500 words a day, 6 days a week. Words that count will be any of my creative projects (sketches, short stories, novels, screenplays) and words that don't count are blog entries and any random typing that's not actually contributing to my work. (Which includes any random messaging/posting/comments on Facebook or any other website! I'm trying to be strong and focused here.)

And that is all I wanted to say.

We can all learn from Randy the Molester's book...

Life's about being yourself. Except if you're a pedophile. Because even if you're naturally inclined that way, you shouldn't and if you do there's a special circle of hell awaiting you. (It's the one where you star in a never-ending donkey show, perv!) (At least I hope. I do hope child molesters are raped by donkeys in their afterlives. I hope that doesn't make me a bad person.)

But forget about the pedos. Back to my original post. The more I trip along this life, the more I realize that the more you just be yourself, the better your life will turn out. (I hope. I mean, for me, it's early yet- but I think my words will hold true.) Who are your friends? The ones who know you best. Your family? Your relatives and super close friends who have always stood by you. Your acquaintances? Those who's company you enjoy, but neither of you make an effort to see each other- if it's easy, than cool, but if not, whatever.

Even though being myself in the job I'm in right now might not be the best idea, I think it's the best I can be. And it keeps me from being terribly depressed. So being yourself? I think it's a win-win.