A few days ago, I saw the beginnings of what I thought was going to be a huge ass zit right on the tip of my nose. It seemed like it was primed to be one of those Mount Vesuvius bitches that could open up and swallow half my face. Or at the very least it would make me look like Rudolph the Red Nosed fucking reindeer. I Sea Breezed, Clearsiled, buffed and sanded that bitch off before it became a problem but it was not making me happy. I hate working when I have a pimple obstructing my view. I feel like customers are just staring at it the whole time they are telling me how they want their burger cooked. But sometimes we must go to work even when we feel we don't look our best.
Many years ago I took a one day job working for the zoo. (Honestly, I need to write a book about how many damn jobs I have had.) It was some stupid ass promotion announcing they had a new seal or baby tiger or something, I dunno. I had to go to Chelsea Piers early in the morning to find out what I had to do. Thankfully, I was doing this my friend Shane so I didn't feel completely lame, but it was pretty lame nonetheless. I was told I would be dressed as a butterfly that day and was supposed to walk around and interact with kids. (And believe it or not, that is not the only time I have played a butterfly. At the United States premiere of Teletubbies, I had to dress as a butterfly for four hours at Roseland ballroom. I need to put that shit under my special skills on my resume.) They handed me some bullshit wings that they must have gotten out of the leftover dollar bin at Party City and made me put on some pastel colored sweat pants. If I had known this was what I would be doing, I would have made a point to have Bloody Mary's first. Then they said they would paint my face. Great. Fine. Whatever. I just wanted the hundred bucks at the end of the five hours. On my forehead, they painted these white swirly things that were supposed to be antennas. They used some gloopy gloppy thick ass makeup and sent me on my way. Shane and I frolicked around like damn fools all day just waiting until we could get our hundred dollar bills and go home.
The next day, I woke up to see that my face was completely sunburned from being in the sun all day without any sunscreen. I was like lobster red. Except for where they had painted the antennas. That was perfectly pale. I had effectively sunburned a swirly design all across my forehead. I called Shane.
BW: Hello, Shane? It's me.
Shane: Oh my God! Do you have a sunburn on your fucking head from that damn make up yesterday like I do?
BW: I do.
I went to work and had to watch every single table look at my face and try to figure out what the hell was going on up there. And it wasn't just that one day. That damn sunburn lasted a week, so I had about four or five shifts of constantly explaining that I was not in some cult. I was just stupid. One lady, said, "Why do you always have something on your face?" I didn't understand. "Aren't you the same guy who had that big scratch across your face a few weeks ago?" Oh yeah. I forgot. I had been wrestling with my ten week old puppy when I let my face get too close to his razor sharp puppy teeth. He gnashed me across the face leaving a three inch scrape across my cheek that required a tetanus shot. That was on my face for about two weeks. So, yes. I am that waiter who always has something on his face. Makes the Mount Vesuvius zit seem like molehill.
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