4
November 2002
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My feet hurt. And not in that my-shoes-are-too-new kind of way. They hurt in that when-I-sit-for-five-minutes-and-then-stand-up-I-limp kind of way. I had to pick up a lot of shifts the past week because it was tight getting my rent together. The six days I spent in Florida earlier in the month set me back a bit, but they were well worth it. (I think Mo and I drank all the beer [and most of the frozen drinks] in Siesta Key, despite the fact that our beloved Daiquiri Deck was closed for remodeling. We also ate a lot of seafood. My mother was down there the week after we got back and I thought I was going to have to drive down there and MAKE her try the lobster quesadilla.) But because I picked up so many shifts, I've been spending so so much time in the restaurant that I feel like I've been living there. In fact, when I got there this morning, it had been exactly twelve hours since I'd left. And to top that off? My dreams last night were consumed with Steakhouse goodness. I don't remember much of them at this point, except for the part where I found $300 in a salad (including a 230 dollar bill). And that people kept taking or bussing items that I wasn't finished with. I just remember an overwhelming sense of frustration. And then panic because I knew I had to turn in the cash that I'd found but I really just wanted it for my Visa bill. Then I woke up and stumbled out of bed and went to work, still mixing up what I dreamed and what had actually happened the night before. The past few days haven't been as fun because my closest friend there, Melissa, has been out of town since Friday and for some reason all of the Sally No Funs were on the schedule all weekend. That meant I had to make my own fun, which led me to wearing a toy sheriff's badge on Halloween. I got a lot of "So... you the new sheriff in town?" and "Can you arrest me later?" Mostly I would just respond with "Huh?" because I'd forget I even had the stupid thing on. I am nothing if not coy and smooth. It's been pretty busy lately, which is good because my sales are high, but people have also been really stingy so my tips haven't been that great. Or maybe I'm just stupid to always expect between 15 and 20 per cent, or maybe other people figure the tip off the pretax total. I don't know. But I do know that leaving six on $60 is only going to come back and bite you. That I do know. And now that I make my living from tips I feel guilty when I leave the bartender less than 20% or when I don't tip the Starbucks kids. Then again, those cats are all making at least minimum wage and maybe they shouldn't be so greedy wanting tips when I really actually need them because I make $2.13 an hour. The burrito place by my house even has a tip jar. Isn't this getting a little ridiculous? Will I have to start feeling guilty when I don't pay the girl working the window at Chick-fil-A? I've just been so tired lately. I know it's because I'm not taking care of myself. My gym membership has been pointless, even though working out has been on my To Do list for weeks. I really want to go, but it just seems pointless after running around for an entire afternoon, and who wants to spend their one day off a week in the gym? Not I, Captain. Although I'm sure you'll all be happy to know, however, that I'm not going out every night. In fact, I haven't been out since last Sunday when Kitchen Boy and I lifted some beers at the Pub together. We mostly just sat there and smiled at each other and said "What?" like dopes and tried to ignore the fact that half the staff was sitting at the other end of the bar whispering about what we were doing there together. Because lord knows I don't know.
The notify is tahred. And the forum wants you to Get out the Vote.
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