Thursday, February 5, 2009

I'm Just NOT Waitress Material . . . . . . . . Part 3: THE UGLY

THE UGLY

Obviously I've been procrastinating on this one. Mostly because it's pretty embarrassing for me. So I'll make it as quick and painless as possible.

As a sophomore in college I was looking for a small job. Nothing fancy, just something to earn a few more dollars a week for spending money. Mid-September I thought I found the perfect one. Actually it was the perfect one. The commitment was for five hours every night until October 31st. I was hired as a spook in a haunted house.

This was an easy job. All I had to do was show up, find out which ghoul I was assigned to be and the make-up artists would do the rest! I was a cloaked spirit (this one was my personal favorite because you were supposed to be silent at all times and just follow people and hide in corners. I actually made several grown men scream out this way), I was a mummy that shot out of a coffin, I was a ghostly prisoner locked up in the cell of the living-dead (This one required a lot of screaming, and moaning. The owner liked to put me in this position the most because I was good at it. He even gave me a cash bonus a couple times!) and a few other ghosts or ghouls that don't really have any names.

Anyway, it was because of the cell of the living-dead that I found myself in the throws of embarrassment.

There were always two prisoners in the cell. I was in there often and usually put with the same guy. Now for the first couple of weeks there aren't many people who visit a haunted house, so we had lots of time to talk and pass the time away. You can probably see where this is going. He was about a year older than me and pretty cute from what I could see on his drivers license (that was the only way to show each other what we looked like - lucky for me my driver license picture was pretty good in those days).

On some of those slow nights half of the staff, being bored, somehow would get caught up in an impromptu game of sardines, hide and go seek, or tag. Our "haunting" grounds was a lazer tag arena turned haunted house, so there were lots of places to hide. I don't remember which game we were playing, but I was hiding one night and my cell partner stumbled across me and hid in the same place. We were laughing and snickering - and then he pulled me in for a kiss. (What?! Where did that come from?) Did I kiss him back? I don't know. Maybe.

The next night the owner called me into his office before "showtime" and had me sit. I thought "Cool, is he going to tell me about another bonus opportunity or that I'm an awesome Dracula?" Instead started he started with this. "Do you have something to tell me?" What? I clearly didn't know where he was going with this, total confusion until - I remembered the stolen kiss last night. So I just said "About what?" I'll spare you the utter details, but he went on to tell me that someone came to him last night and said they thought they witnessed some inappropriate activity. I went red and felt like the big spot light from the sky was shinning down on me. "Well, he kissed me." My boss waited. Then squinted his eyes and said "He kissed you. He didn't do this or this to you?" WHAT????? Now I'm red-hot. I had to clear my name! I explained to him the games and the kiss, but was SOOOO embarrassed that people were thinking otherwise.

After making sure there was going to be no more riff-raff in his Haunted House, which included double checking with me about what happened and then announcing to the whole staff that he knows all that goes on in his arena and there will be no "fooling around". (Which by then everyone knew what he was talking about through gossip in the work place - so MORE embarrassment for me during this little announcement since only he knew the true story). We went back to work that day, but I never saw my cell partner again.

There it's out and it's done. No more UGLY stories. Don't ask me anymore.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

I'm Just NOT Waitress Material . . . . . . . . Part 2: THE BAD

THE BAD
So somewhere during my developmental stages in the uterus the chromosomal, double-helical, gene pool make-up of my body took a short cut and skipped a few stages and thus, I was born with two omitted abilities: 1. Growing an adult tooth on the right side of my mouth. (If it weren't for my tooth destroying dentist, I'd still have a gap there. That's a story for another day) and 2. The simple ability to be a waitress.

One summer while home from college, I felt super motivated to earn a lot of money and took on a second job while working at the zoo. I applied to and was hired by the Natural Cafe on State St. I loved the food and the kick-back atmosphere - it was perfect. Now, they don't start new hires on waitressing duty right away. You need to work toward that glorious goal and start off at the Smoothie Bar. What did I care! I didn't even know what a waitress was let alone what they did! A free meal every shift, the cooks loved me, the music was great, and I got to drink the "extra" if there was too much smoothie made. Not to mention interesting and entertaining people to talk to (one night I found myself serving Troy Aikman and some other guy who's name escapes me from the Dallas Cowboys at my little smoothie bar.) But, sometimes the cafe was short staffed and I'd help bring the food out to the tables. My first time doing this was on my third day there. I was taking different orders out to the tables on the front patio and each time I did, there was a table of 8 Brazilians who would wave over to me and and shout out "Numba 10? Numba 10??" And each time I'd have to tell them, "Uh, nope. Not yet!" and then big smile and hurry back in for the next order (At least I knew this much. Big Smiles can get you places.) Finally, their order came up and my manager said she would follow me out with the rest of the plates. As I approached the Brazilian table (and this is where my talent truly shines) I held out the loaded plates of food, or maybe projected the plates of food, or . . . I don't . . . know. I just remember heaving plates out over their heads and shouting "Hey, look it's number 10!!" And as my arms stopped extending, the plates stopped extending, but little salsa cups stay true to the law of physics and gravity and went off the plates. My Big Smile dropped off my face and ran away. All I saw were salsa cups - gone. As I looked at those plates held by my beautiful extended arms I thought, "Dang! Now I've made a salsa puddle on the floor and I'll have to get more." But, everyone was laughing! . . . "ok . . . laughing can be good. Wait. But, they're not laughing at meeeee." And as I pulled the plates away from my limited point of view, I saw it. Salsa drip, drip, dripping down her head, her face, and sliding down her neck. Then I heard my boss right behind me. "Oh @#&%".




Same cafe, different day, I went to pick up a business man's blueberry smoothies from his little table and . . . whooop! The slick layer of smoothie sweat (condensation) on the glass fooled me into thinking I had a good grip and goodness gracious that thing just lept into that poor man's lap and smothered itself all over his Italian designer Liquid Black pants and John Lobb shoes that cost him a small fortune (I know so, 'cause he told me so).



THE UGLY To be continued . . .