Today is Father's Day so I am taking the day off from writing to sit on the couch and drink beer while watching a game. I'm not really sure what season it is, but I will find a game to watch. And I will smoke a cigar. I will bar b-q and then go watch a boxing match all the while scratching my balls. I will be enjoying the company of my kids who each made me a homemade card that I will read once and then put away somewhere to save forever so no one will know that I am an old sentimental softie. At the end of the day I will fall asleep on the couch with my hand down my pants. Happy Father's Day.
In the meantime, you can read this old tired summer repeat:
We had a really busy night the other night. I think we had about eighty-something people there and only two of us serving. The difference with this place as opposed to a restaurant is that everyone comes in at once, orders at once and then leaves at once. If the show is at 7:30, at 7:15 we are taking orders for every single person and then when the show is done all of them want the check right that second. It gets a little hairy and sometimes people have to wait. Most people are okay with it. Some are not.
The show had ended and I had collected most of my checks. I was setting the room for the next show when this bat out of hell rushes up to me looking like she is having a stroke. She was so angry. She couldn't even keep her eyes open because they were squished together in petulance. I hadn't noticed her before because she was not in my section. "I am so upset. I am so upset. Why is it taking so long to get my check? Why am I the last one? I mean, I wasn't the last one to arrive so why am I the last one now? I am so upset. This is crazy!" The lady was about to cry. Her hands were balled up into fists and she was shaking them up and down. Her face was completely wrinkled and and her brow was furrowed to the nth degree. She also had really frizzy hair that was obviously dyed black and wasn't age appropriate. That has nothing to do with her behavior, but it should be duly noted.
I reached my hand out to her and gently touched her forearm. "Hi there. Is everything okay?" I asked.
"I don't know where my waiter is and why he is taking so long," she screeched at me.
Pulling my hand away from her for fear that it would get sucked into the vacuum that was her bitchiness, I told her I was certain that her waiter was taking care of her check and would be right back.
She screams at me. "But I am so upset that it is taking so long, I just don't understand it!"
I paused for a moment and said, "I'm sorry but did I do something that upset you?"
She looked at me like I had just asked her what the square root of bitch was. "No," she said like it was the most ridiculous question I could have asked.
"Then why are you yelling at me?" Pause. Pause. Staring at her all the while. After sufficient awkwardness on her part, off I go to finish my sidework as she stood there with her mouth open. Grumpy bitch. Didn't she learn in kindergarten that someone has to be last? Jesus, someone just has to be last. It may as well be the woman in the room who has the worst dye job ever.