Busy. Busy. Busy. ahh... hello. I'm just one short waitress. I had thirty-eight covers tonight. Sold thirteen bottles of wine, seven fondues, nine orders of escargot. I couldn't get a glass of water to be refilled by anybody. Every time I got my head above water long enough to explain to a table "Where I'm from" I was sat again, and again. It was nuts, somehow I managed to keep from drowning. I made every fire on time remembered every request for blue cheese. I didn't have any substitutions thank god.
My seven top had six no seven bottles of wine including one Italian Sparkling. The head guy at the table was wearing a turtle neck and blazer with a stubby gray haired ponytail. Good looking guy for an older man.
Everybody was 'dining' tonight except one deuce who took twenty minutes to decide on sharing appetizers. I had three men flirting with me, calling me 'Rosy' which I hate. My boss told me that I was 'being lazy' in my service. I said that I was doing my damnedest to keep up at all. Two groups hated their tables tonight, in my station. It's the fur coats I'm convinced of it. Any woman in a fur coat is going to find a reason to bitch.
I'm taking myself to the movies tomorrow. Going to see the new Denzel Washington flick. I still haven't gotten my hair trimmed or my nails done. I'm worried about my White Coat buddy who called me this morning the stomach pains that landed him in the ER six months ago are back. I broke with our tradition of not telling each other what to do and made him call his doctor.
I hate the way it always feels good to be home but I always want to leave as soon as I'm there and then immediately miss it two days later. I could really go with hanging out in my cousins living room with a bowl of ice cream trying to dissect what's going wrong with our love lives over episodes of Sex and the City.
Is there room for a real life on this blog? Am I breaking rules by adding myself the non-waitress to it?
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