Scenes from last night:
11442.
Eleven thousand four hundred forty two.
That’s a fuckofalot of people to wait on in a calendar year.
Two positive Yelp/Trip Advisor reviews that mentioned me specifically.
One bad one (offline, so I’m being completely honest here).
Overall, I would say it was a pretty great year.
Scenes from last night:
The one thing as a server that you have to get used to doing, is never involving yourself in ongoing discussions at a table.
Trust me when I tell you that this is one of the hardest parts of the job for me!
But twice in the last week, I have not been able to contain myself or my comments (Don’t worry, I’m saving the other story for another post).
This past Friday night, I was waiting on this really nice table of two couples, both in their mid to late fifties.
As I was in the process of trying to clear the table before asking them if they had any interest in dessert, this is what I overheard:
Lady #1: No, I swear, I’ve never heard of that.
Lady #2: Oh, come on!
Lady #1: You’re making it up!
Man #1: It’s one in the sti…(He abruptly stops after realizing that I’m at the table)
And now I realize what they’re talking about I start to laugh. Not out loud, mind you, but the quiet shoulder shaking, kind of laugh.
The best part is, that after a brief pause, they keep going.
At this point, I just have to turn around and drop to squat, (which is really hard for me right now with my knee issues, but…) and burst out laughing. I mean, tears rolling down my face laughing, because the lady just can’t seem to figure out the rhyme.
So I stand back up and turn back around to the table, wiping my eyes, and still laughing.
Now they’re laughing at me and themselves, because they fully understand that they have been overheard and well, there’s not much else that anyone can say.
Except for me.
“It’s one in the poop, two in the chute,” I tell them.
Lady #1: Oh, I like that so much better.
Man #1: No, it’s one in the stink, two in the pink.
Me: Uh – not sure I’ve heard that version before.
After a few more rounds of laughter and ‘sign language’, I say, “Yeah, there’s a guy that lives around here, because I see his truck frequently that has the shocker sticker on the back bumper. Makes you wonder about what goes on in that household!”
A little while later, after they’d paid their bill, I went over to pick up the check, and I noticed that they had left me a really nice big tip.
Me: Hey guys, thank you so much
Man #1: No, thank you. You have a great sense of humor. That, um, could have turned out badly.
Me: It’s all good. I haven’t laughed that hard in a while.
Scenes from last night/My life in a nutshell edition:
I think anybody that knows me knows that I have a strong love of gay men. Never met a gay man I didn’t instantly want to become best friends with. Why? Because they are who they are, no bullshit, no games. Honest to themselves and the world.
Little over two years ago, during the 20th anniversary of Princess Diana’s death, my parents were visiting. I arrived home from work and my mom was watching a special about Princess Diana on TV and she said something along the lines of ‘the only thing you and Princess Di have in common is your love of gay men’ or ‘your stable of gay men’ or something along those lines.
I responded with something along the lines of ‘I’m OK with that!’
So fast forward to this past week, and I am at dinner with to my very dearest friends, and for privacy sake I’ll call them Fred and Roger. They are two of the most amazing humans that I have ever had the opportunity to become friends with and they invited me out to dinner and movie.
Now Roger knows that I’ve been struggling with writing some of my scenes from last night, because I’ve spoken with him about it recently. So instead he asked me if I have any funny stories to tell from the restaurant.
Now normally there’s nothing I love more than telling a story about the restaurant, I normally have 15 to 20 different stories ready to go at any given time. But recently I’ve been struggling with putting them down on paper, and apparently struggling with verbalizing them as well.
So instead of telling a story about how one of my coworkers got mad at me because a customer said I was the best server he’s ever had in the restaurant, or have another customer thought that my name means strong woman and I said, ‘Oh that’s funny, because everybody calls me the Alpha bitch,’ I came up with a story about one of my coworkers, her new boyfriend, his apparent micro-penis, the definition of a micro-penis, and anal sex.
And not only did I butcher the telling the story, like literally using only the words in the previous sentence, there’s nothing like anal sex as dinner conversation to make things a little awkward.
So, on this Thanksgiving Day, take a little piece of advice from my personal experience. While it’s commonly known that it’s not a great idea to talk about politics… it’s really not a great idea to talk about anal sex.
You’ll thank me for this one later.
Happy Thanksgiving!
monkeydish 