Hello, i'm your waitress. .

So, after my fourth night in a row of having yet another serving nightmare i've decided that maybe a blog will be a bit cathartic. A little back history. I've been waiting tables for almost eleven years. What this means to most is that I can't or won't do something better with my life. What this means to me is that I found a gig that allows me to do what I want where I want when I want. I can and do travel often. I have lived all over the country, doing a job that allows me to live comfortably. The downside, my feet hurt at the end of every night. Always. The concept of a 401K is a bit foreign to me. and ofcourse I have to deal with THEM. Now if you wait tables have ever waited tables or worked in a restaurant you know who 'THEM' are.

The people who order their sixteen ounce filets extra well done. who want their fish poached instead of baked, vegetables instead pomme frites, do you have ...... followed by the most random item they can think of.

Your baker isn't here? can you call him? I really need to know if there are nuts in this one square of bread before I eat it.

Oh, and by the way my sous chef just told me that i'm going to hell if I order one more substition on his menu. There are thirteen tables being fired out of the kitchen at the same time.

And the nightmare.

I was decanting a bottle of Bordeaux. I had the decanter in my hands and then I looked down. Bottle gone decanter gone. No wine. Oh shit... my boss wants to know what the hell I did with it. did I mention he was Brazillian? and regularly does his swearing in the middle of the diningroom, in portuguese. It's gone. And the little old man wants his wine. Oh damn. And I wake up, way too early no going back to sleep. I will now spend the next week avoiding selling any wine from France.