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Tuesday, February 16, 2010

When You Wish Upon a Star


So a few days have passed since I last wrote because I do have a life and it doesn't revolve around writing for this blog. Okay, kidding. I have just been really lazy and I totally don't have a life. Plus, the Olympics, Project Runway and Survivor are also a priority for me. In addition to all that productive television watching I have been working on another writing project. Yes, I am writing a book about all the other jobs I have had in my life and when it is published if all of the readers of The Bitchy Waiter would buy one, I can sell about fourteen copies of it. I have been reviewing my old diaries to refresh my failing memory on all the things I have done in my life to earn money and one entry stopped me cold in my tracks. Had I not written it in my own hand, I never would have believed that it was from me. It proves to all those naysayers out there that I have not always been a spiteful, bitter, angry waiter. There was a time when I was as pure as the driven snow and filled with hope and and inspiration to serve others. Of course, this was before I was an actual waiter. I was just a lowly busboy dreaming of the day that I could be a waiter and reap the rewards of that position. Behold:

September 30, 1989: Worked tonight and made $31. Cool, eh? People tell me I'm a great busser. I want to be a great waiter. I really do.


First off, yes, I was working in a restaurant in 1989 which is probably before half of you bitches were born. And yes, $31 was a decent sum of money to me back then when my rent was only $275. It was a long time ago before cell phones, computers and I think it was right before they invented these flying machines called aeroplanes. But we must take notice of my aspiration to become a waiter and how I truly wanted to be a great one. I was working at a Mexican restaurant in Denver called Juanita's. Who even knows if it's still there? But that place groomed me for my future in the food service industry. There was one waitress there who always said "pardon me" when ever she walked by and I always thought it was so sophisticated of her. To this day, I say that instead of "excuse me" or "get the fuck out of my way." I want to keep it classy.

I guess the point of this post is to remind us all that dreams really do come true. Jiminy Cricket says so and I do have him tattooed on my leg so it must be true. Here I was a mere child of six years old in 1989 and dreaming of the possibility of becoming a waiter. And twenty-one short years later, my dreams have come true. I am a waiter. Oh god, I am a waiter.
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6 comments:

Adelle said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
The Bitchy Waiter said...

No. Wait. I swear I was born in 1983. I am young. I am young.

Waiting said...

It think the funniest part of this post is that you continue to keep it classy by saying "pardon me." If you worked with me I would probably die laughing every single time. Not sure why this is so hysterical to me but it is.

Anonymous said...

Love your blg!

Dance...dance to the radio said...

You know, back in the early 90's my fiance decided that she was pregnant with someone else's baby.
So then I had to leave our apartment, the place that we worked at together and school.
I got to keep the credit card balances.

I ended up living in a cockroach infested basement suite downtown and working in a horrible sub suburban hotel that catered to the cheapest and most base desires of the locals.
Working any shift I could get.
Lucky to get thirty five hours a week.

I'd catch a bus from my downtown shit hole to this shit hole hotel for the late night bussing shift.
Ten pm until two am.
To make things easier I would buy beer and hide it in the dumpster until my shift was over.

One of the guys who always worked that shift was a little oriental guy who had questionable English.
But not too questionable.
He knew what he was doing.

We used to have to carry trays of glasses out to the bartenders through the crowd.
He would say, 'Excuse me, Fuck you very much.'

Anonymous said...

My goodness Dance...dance, you could've seriously narrowed your story down to two paragraphs. Your entire life story was irrelevant