Happy Birthday, Polly Holiday

Today is Polly Holiday's birthday, so I am reposting this. Kiss my grits, y'all!


I am dedicating this post to my favorite television waitress of all time. She is the brilliant and perfectly bitchy, but in a nice way, Florence Jean Castlebury. Better known as Flo, she worked at Mel's Diner on the hit television sitcom Alice. It ran from 1976 to 1985 and I watched that shit every week. Yes, I was alive to watch it. I am an old bitchy waiter. Flo was trashy, funny, slutty, easy, bitchy, and tacky. In other words, my hero. She wasn't afraid to tell her boss to fuck off, but because she was on television she had to settle for "kiss my grits." If someone told her that the food sucked she agreed with them and I never once saw her do an ounce of sidework.

I loved her so much I went as her for Halloween a few years ago. When it comes to a Halloween costume, I don't fuck around. I went to town on it. At the time, I was working for a mammoth hotel industry with very strict rules about what to wear and how to behave. I won't say which one in order to protect their vision of how an employee of theirs should behave while working for them and afterwards. It was Marriott. I asked them one October if we would be allowed to dress up for Halloween. They foolishly said yes. They probably thought I would wear a silly hat or put some stupid ass ears on my head. No no, uh uh. I dragged my ass up to work an hour early and went full drag. Bra, panties, slip, wig, earrings, make up, the works. I sashayed into the dining room and their jaws dropped. I was Flo. I spent the whole day in character. My tables didn't know what to do with me. We served a lot of attorneys and judges and businessmen and they could not handle me. I called them "sugar" and "sweetie" and told them what they wanted before they told me. They were filled with discomfort that there was a man dressed up like a lady and he was flirting with them. The next year, we were not allowed to wear a costume. But that year I had a blast. And I won the costume contest too. Best tip of the day.






Behold, The Bitchy Waiter as Flo  

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Swimmin' Pools, Movie Stars

The flight from New York to Los Angeles is a long one even under the best of circumstances. Normally, I am one of the few people who can actually enjoy their time on an airplane. I find the time to be completely devoid of responsibility. It's six hours where you are free to waste your time sleeping and watching bad movies. When you factor in that I was on the flight because someone else was paying for it so I could go on national television and talk about being The Bitchy Waiter, you'd think I was in Heaven at 34,000 feet. Not this flight.

The flight was a full one with not open free seat. Since I didn't buy the ticket myself and had no say in my seat assignment, I ended up smack dab in the middle of the plane. No window or aisle seat for me, thanks. Two rows in front of me was a baby who wanted his presence known. This adorable crotch dumpling (thank you for the word, reader) cried for half of the flight. It was not a little whimper and sniff kind of cry. It sounded like there was a circumcision happening in aisle 33 seat B. I kept wondering when I would see a doctor throw the foreskin into the bag of trash that the flight attendant had as she walked down the aisle. I looked at the plastic bag my American Airlines blanket had been in and wondered if the baby would like to play with it despite the warning on it that said "this bag is not a toy."

To the left of me was a man I envied because he told me was taking an Ambien and a muscle relaxer. He did just that. Then he put in earphones and blew up his little neck pillow and drifted off to slumber land for the entire flight. I considered asking for an Ambien but the only thing I had to barter with was a granola bar and half empty bottle of water. Thankfully, he didn't snore and had he left his bag within easy access, I would have pilfered through it trying to find some peace and quiet in the form of a pill..

To the right of me was a very large man who looked like he had just come from doing extra work on Yentl. Oy. He poured himself into his seat and his odor drifted into my seat along with a portion of his extra body mass. You know what your gym shorts smell like after you do cardio and you maybe had just had a bowel movement where some baby wipes would have been helpful but you didn't have any so you settle for "clean enough" but who cares since you're going to the gym anyway? I wish he smelled that good. Something about layers and layers of black wool being worn on a hot muggy day creates an odor that is very special indeed. Add to that a big gray beard that goes to your chest and holds onto sweat the way I hold onto a margarita glass and you have a really miserable seat mate. And why does he not realize that the arm rest is for both of us to share? Of course he fell asleep almost instantly after having three phone conversations as we taxied down the runway. When he got up once to go the bathroom he returned with whatever stench had been living in the toilet. He fell asleep again but this time he made sure to face me so his foul breath could come in my direction as he snored. I was holding on to a fart for about two hours but eventually let it go in a futile attempt to freshen the air.

When I finally landed in The City of Angels, my driver was waiting to take me to my hotel. I checked in at midnight and ignored the idea of beauty sleep and called a friend to come get me. We ate at some 24 hour diner called Mel's. With my love for Flo, how could I not? We spent the late hours walking down the Hollywood Walk of Fame looking for the stars of Florence Henderson, Polly Holiday and Shirley Hemphill. When I found Ann B. Davis' star, I knew I had made it. I was in Hollywood! Dr. Phil was waiting for me, so I forced myself to get some sleep in preparation for the next day where I would go on national television and proclaim my hatred of children in my station. So what, I only had three hours of sleep? Surely, Dr. Phil's people would have some concealer to cover the bags under my eyes.

Stay tuned to hear more about my Hollywood adventure.

Happy Birthday, Polly Holiday!

Today is Polly Holiday's birthday, so I am reposting this. Kiss my grits, y'all!


I am dedicating this post to my favorite television waitress of all time. She is the brilliant and perfectly bitchy, but in a nice way, Florence Jean Castlebury. Better known as Flo, she worked at Mel's Diner on the hit television sitcom Alice. It ran from 1976 to 1985 and I watched that shit every week. Yes, I was alive to watch it. I am an old bitchy waiter. Flo was trashy, funny, slutty, easy, bitchy, and tacky. In other words, my hero. She wasn't afraid to tell her boss to fuck off, but because she was on television she had to settle for "kiss my grits." If someone told her that the food sucked she agreed with them and I never once saw her do an ounce of sidework.

I loved her so much I went as her for Halloween a few years ago. When it comes to a Halloween costume, I don't fuck around. I went to town on it. At the time, I was working for a mammoth hotel industry with very strict rules about what to wear and how to behave. I won't say which one in order to protect their vision of how an employee of theirs should behave while working for them and afterwards. It was Marriott. I asked them one October if we would be allowed to dress up for Halloween. They foolishly said yes. They probably thought I would wear a silly hat or put some stupid ass ears on my head. No no, uh uh. I dragged my ass up to work an hour early and went full drag. Bra, panties, slip, wig, earrings, make up, the works. I sashayed into the dining room and their jaws dropped. I was Flo. I spent the whole day in character. My tables didn't know what to do with me. We served a lot of attorneys and judges and businessmen and they could not handle me. I called them "sugar" and "sweetie" and told them what they wanted before they told me. They were filled with discomfort that there was a man dressed up like a lady and he was flirting with them. The next year, we were not allowed to wear a costume. But that year I had a blast. And I won the costume contest too. Best tip of the day.

Behold, The Bitchy Waiter as Flo

Does Anyone Still Wear A Hat? While Waitressing?

Summer is upon us and the humidity level is creeping higher and higher. Here on the East Coast, the weather is a crazy thing to me. Having lived here for 16 years I am still not used to the fact that in the winter it can be 5° and then in the summer it can be 95°. What the hell kind of place is this? And I don't care what people say about it not being the heat but the humidity. If it's 95° it's fucking hot no matter what the humidity level is. The reason I'm so flumfluxxed about the temperature is because I have to wear a uniform to work and that uniform is black pants and a long sleeve black button up shirt. You try wearing that and walking into the depths of holy hell that we call the subway and try to stay fresh for more than three minutes. It's impossible. When I get off the train and get to work, it's not pretty sometimes. Sure, I could carry my uniform to work in a garment bag, but really? A garment bag that carries a stain covered pair of pants and a faded dress shirt? Not worth it. Or I could fold it and carry it in a bag, but really? And then get to work and have to wear a stain covered pair of pants and a faded dress shirt that is also wrinkled? A true dilemma. So what do I do? I wear it and and turn into a big hot sweaty mess and then serve my guests looking like a tired dried up French whore who just gave a blow job in a sauna.

At my last job, I could wear whatever I wanted which was a good thing for about two weeks. And then I realized I was getting all my real clothes stained with coffee and grease and I started longing for a uniform again. I don't know who came up with the universal uniform for restaurant folks to be khakis, but that's what it is most of the time. Pizzeria Uno, Bennigan's, Houlihan's and Black Eyed Pea were all khakis. I have spent about 13 years of my life being forced to wear Dockers and Gap pants.

My big issue with a uniform is when the restaurant requires you to wear a certain article of clothing but they make us pay for it. That pisses my shit off. If I have to wear that ugly ass burgundy shirt, Mr. Houlihan's, I don't want to pay for it. Same thing with you, Mr. Black Eyed Pea. I have to buy the green shirt with the stupid ass embroidered logo? Or sometimes they will give you one shirt but if you want another it comes out of your paycheck. Fuck that. I will take the one free shirt and wear that bitch every day until it has so much food on it that it walk itself into the restaurant and start picking up shifts.

If I have to wear a uniform, I want to wear one that has some personality. I want a little hat and an cute frilly apron and a name tag. I want a big starched white collar and white sneakers. I want bright red lipstick and a beehive. Basically, I wanna be Flo from the television show Alice. I have written about her before and I have even been her for Halloween. Now that's a uniform.

And does anyone get what the post title is referring to? Does anyone still wear...a hat?

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