I Am Not An Animal

When I work at the club, there are usually just two servers and a bartender. That's it. There are not a lot of people "on the floor" most of the time and I generally work with the same couple of people each week because of our set schedule. The other server I work with is tall, dark and handsome. Like literally, he is 6' 3", black hair and very good looking. I think he is a model/actor or something and he is really young. For the sake of this blog, let's just say his name is Pretty Baby. I really like Pretty Baby even though I seriously think I am old enough to be his father, which makes a teeny tiny bit of my soul die when I admit that. And when I say a "teeny tiny" bit of my soul I mean most of it. When we work, the room is divided in half for each of our stations. A few days ago, the guests were being seated and Pretty Baby went up to his first table in the back half of the room. The first person in his station was this older gay man who was with his friend and when he saw Pretty Baby, he exclaimed, "Oh boy, we get the handsome waiter." This was probably followed by some drool dripping from the corners of his mouth, his tongue hanging out and him untucking his shirt so it covered the front of his pants. First off, middle aged gay man, I can hear you. The handsome waiter implies that there is only one handsome waiter in the room meaning I am not it. Now I may not be Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Soupy Sales or whoever is considered hot these days, but I ain't no Quasi-fucking-modo. I suddenly felt like The Elephant Man or that guy from that movie Mask. (Funny store: I remember seeing Mask at the movie theater while getting drunk on California Coolers. There's a clue as to how old I am. Quiet dramatic part of the movie and my friend Kim yelled out, "Awww, chin up, Rocky! Why the long face?) Anyhoo, I guess the customer had just delegated me to "the funny one" or worse yet "the other one." Thanks. That's great. Like being at work is not torturous enough, now I have to hear from customers that I am practically an eye sore. Pretty Baby assured me that the man said a handsome waiter and not the handsome waiter. Uh huh. Sure. Fine.

Twenty minutes later, an old lady told me that she liked my curly hair...