So, regarding the actual diet diet of the Life Diet I mentioned in my previous post, there are some hurdles. I am, as it is known, a waitress (in part). What you may not know about waitresses is that, unlike in other minimum wage job, they work their entire shift without a break. Yes. Yes, they do. No, I'm not kidding. Yes, apparently it is allowed. I don't know how, but, let me assure you, never has one word along the lines of "Its been 5 hours, have you had a 15 minute break yet?" been mentioned. "These guests have been waiting 15 minutes for their food, get that roll out of your mouth and run this NOW" has been mentioned, or something to that effect, quite a few times. Thus, the idea of eating every 2 - 3 hours in order to stimulate metabolism, keep blood sugar even, and stave off starvation so that you don't eat like a damn whale when you get home is thrown out the window like so many givings from a medieval bed pan.
When you've had a long, shit day as a waitress (more about that later) and you haven't eaten (or sat, or vacated your bladder) in many hours, God help you, but you stop by the damn Burger King on the way home. You just do. You hog down a Whopper, and then about 3 to 30 minutes later you scarf down a handful of cookies. You wait a few hours, during which your irritable bowel releases several times over, and then around 9pm, just when it is a no-no to eat, you get hungry again. It's all about high calorie, because the expanse of time that you go without eating is, it turns out, sufficient time for your primal extincts against starvation to tie up your will power and start screaming "FEED ME!"
Makes it very difficult to break the addiction of fatty, sugary food. (I don't worry about salt content because of my POTS - that's one vice I'm allowed, actually encouraged, to have, and whoo! hoo!) I tell you, if someone walked up to me as I was leaving my shift and handed me a bouquet of broccoli, I would gut them and trample off, dragging their limbs behind me, to find their children and dine upon their not-yet-ripe entrails. I would. Really.
I guess I could do that whole dedicated, organized, planning thing where you pick one day a week to cook your meals in advance, freezing them until you are ready to come home from a hard day at work and dethaw/reheat - simple as that, good as a cheeseburger. I guess I could do that, but, I'm sorry, to me, any kind of left over, refrigerated poultry just smells like an old man's farts. Am I the only one who thinks this?
So, I'm a hungry, single-income waitress that detests most leftover food situations. What am I to do to eat healthy and cheaply?
Now, regarding the "also." Today I had a doctor's appointment for follow-up on my progress with dysautonomia/POTS, so I wanted to get out of work early. Cue a two-top that turns into a four-top just as the initial two guests' food was coming out of the kitchen. One of the initial guests ordered drinks for the new two. When the new two got there, one of them said, to me, in just the bitchiest voice you could believe, "I wanted WATER with LIME." (Her friend had ordered her unsweet tea with lemon.)
Let me interject here to say that I have yet to wait on any given person that ordered any type of drink with a lime that turned out to be a nice, courteous, decent human being. They all are just shitty, miserable, bitchy types of people. They are I-am-special people. They are I-am-ahead-of-the-curve people. They are make-a-special-trip-for-me people.
This woman was no less.
And I knew it, if not from the lime, from the attitude. She acted as if I had purposely gotten the wrong drink. Her friend (friend?) piped up and let her know that she had ordered the tea for her. When I brought the water with lime, I double checked to make sure she wanted me to take the tea away, maybe she wanted to keep it, have both. I didn't want to get my head chewed off for taking it away but, should've known!, that would happen anyway. I got another attitude-slathered response, "Yeah." (It's all in the tone; this tone was one of an incredulous "Yeah, dumb bitch, I don't want it, idiot." I think she may have even rolled her eyes a little.)
Finally, when I went to take her order, she - without speaking - held up a stubby, meaty finger at me to hold me in my place until she was ready. She kept the stubby, meaty little finger up in the air at me, while she considered, before she finally graced me with her order. That, thankfully, was the last interaction I had with her. I asked the closer to take the table for me because I really wanted to at least change out of my work clothes before I went to the doctor's office, and also I had had enough.
Oh, and I forgot to mention - stubby finger lady smelled of a mix of scalp and urine. Pleasant.