Thursday, June 30, 2011

Fuckarama

So, I put my tampon in and went to work this morning thinking it would be an ordinary Thursday - busier than Tuesday, but not too terrible.  We only had four people on the floor, which could either be just perfect or a potential for fuckarama.  Well, if you read this blog, you already know which is gonna happen here today.  Close to noon o'clock, I had a couple tables going and nothing particularly upsetting was happening, aside from the fact that I am a waitress with a writer complex in a po-dunk town.  I'm walking toward the kitchen when several people start filing through the doors.  Scratch that, a little more than several.  Several is five to seven, this ended up being a dozen people.  So, a carton of eggs walked through the door.  How do I know this?  How do I know how many people?  Did I stand there and count them as they walked in?  Ha!  Like I care. No.

I know how many people were in that party because while I was in the back, innocently....doing something, I can't remember what, Lady Manager came up with the Wide-Eyes and Big Face and announced, "I need you to get this 12-top that's coming in."

Greeeeeat.  Wait.  Wh-what?  No. Did you...you know I already have tables right?

Wider Eyes, Bigger Face.  Oh yeah, and they're from corporate.  District Manager and what not. 

"I need you.  I need you.  I love you."

Oh, fuck me.

So, with two tables on the other side of the damned restaurant, I walked into a little room we have in the back near the bar, flashed my biggest deep-breath-holy-fuck-me smile and said, "So will this be a quick lunch or a leisurely lunch today?" which got a big laugh from everyone as an inside joke the way that any scripted line that corporate asks us to use is an inside joke (or, just a plain joke to the wait staff). 

I commenced getting drink orders and dealing with a party of corporate people.  It wasn't so bad, was hardly anything, really, except stressful because that's what I do, I stress.  Especially with two other tables on the other side of the restaurant.  My co-workers couldn't really help because they were busy with an influx of traffic coming in for lunch.  Everything worked out fine, though, and I was planning on using my "You owe me" button with Lady Manager (especially after, later, at the sink washing my hands, I gave her The Eye and she countered, "But you do everything perfect. I need you. I love you.")  to scoot on out of there after I wrapped up the party, but Lady Manager scooted herself right on out of there and went to the bank to drop the deposit.  Also, I suspect, to Starbucks, and Target, maybe over to K-mart if Target didn't work out, plus she probably had to get gas, which means she had to go in to get her daily two quarts of blood Mountain Dew.   But whatever, who knows what she was doing, but she was gone a long time while I stood waiting, waiting, waiting, but not on any people, with my back hurting, trying to mentally feel for whether or not I had used all of my tampon and was now bleeding onto that little rope that's attached to the end. 

Eventually, I did get to go home, and got a message from M saying that she was over at the apartment complex where she is performing pet-sitting duties, and she was at the pool they have and I was invited to come over if I would like.  So then I took my happy ass right over to Target to pick up a swimsuit.  I ended up at Old Navy because Target didn't have any tops that matched their bottoms, but Old Navy did, they had a top and a bottom that matched and fit.  Separate tops and bottoms are a good move - we get to pay more, but we also get a better fit upstairs and downstairs, so everybody is happy, and everybody has given a little, which is what they say you have to do in any good deal.

Sadness, though =
bikini top: size small
bikini bottom: size large

That is the equation of my body, in case you wanted to know.

4 comments:

theblonde said...

if it makes you feel better, I've got a size small bottom and a size large top :(

Amber said...

That sound pretty fantastic, actually.

e said...

What.
Is.
This?

Amber said...

Okay, now that I've discovered the difference in the comment and reply buttons...

I had to go back and read this post to remember what this is. This post is me bitching about the job I had at the time as a waitress, and other random things, but mainly bitching about waiting tables.

Thank you for helping me realize what hitting "reply" does, versus hitting "comment!"