Me. Me. Me.

I walk up to my first table. "Hello, how are you this evening?" I don't introduce myself. I wear a name tag. It has my name on it. The name I want you to call me. Not my first name, where I'm from or any other unimportant details.

"So, where are YOU from Rosey?" Really, Rosey is on my name tag.. I don't think so. Only the French around here call me Rosey.

"No where in particular But I moved here from Virginia that was right after Rhode Island which was after Seattle, Portland San Diego"

"but how did you get here?"

It's called a resume and a car.

I had this conversation seven times tonight. Answering question after question,

How long have I been waiting tables?
Eleven years. yes, that's pretty much eleven straight years.

What made you decide to move here?
I was offered a job. I hate humidity so Virginia was over.

what did you do there?
Really? Eleven years of waiting tables, but in Virginia I was
a kindergarten teacher.

How old are you?
Old enough to not want to tell you.

Do your parents miss you being so far away from them?
I've been out of the house for a decade. But, yes.
My parents wish that I was still in my room down the hall. NOT.

I get it. I do. People are curious. Personal questions is a good sign that people think your personable. That's nice. here's the truth. I don't ask where you're from because it doesn't matter to me. Chances are I have either A. Never heard of it. Or B. have lived there myself which will keep me at the table for five extra minutes debating favorite restaurants in whichever place were discussing.

Here's what interests me. Your food order, allergies or preferences, time constraints, wine selections, water glasses, bread plates, and how well you tip. I have had small talk with thousands of people, literally thousands. I have answered thousands of questions over and over again. I would much rather discuss a glass of wine or what kind of cheese is served in the risotto then whether or not my eyelashes are real. (I had that question tonight). People don't need to know if I have a boyfriend. What my favorite cocktail is. Or how well I know my Chef.

I did have a great deuce tonight. 94 chateau Latour and a 94 Napa Cabernet. Insisted that I drink and tell them what I thought. Love when that happens.

I'm tired of people. It happens. A good portion of the time I like people and questions I change my answers based on the table. If you're at least my parents age, then I say that they miss me all the time and I feel horrible but I can't find a job like this one ________ whatever place I decide they're from. If you're accent is nothing found anywhere near the south than I crack jokes about humidity and deep fried creamed corn and my aversion to everything southern. If you're ordering wine I'll give you a run down on what is served best with what entree and point you away from a few of my bottles I don't care for. I can fake laugh with the best of them. In a way it's a kind of customer service based foreplay. Sometimes you're in the mood... and sometimes. Not.

I have aspirations of spending my next day off in a movie theater. All day. There are at least three that I want to see.