Are we living in a parallel universe today? Or is it opposite day and nobody told me? Something crazy has happened and it is fucking with my mind. Something that seems inconceivable and wrong on all counts. It could rock my very existence and damage my reputation as the Bitchy Waiter. I am ashamed to admit this, but here goes:I won employee of the month.
Actually, my place calls it Superstar Employee of the Month because we are all so dramatical and over the top like that.
It all started last week when Jasmine told me she was campaigning for me. "I'm gonna tell people to vote for you, you deserve to win."
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do. You've been here for almost three years, you totally deserve to win."
"Really? You think so?" I asked. "That is so nice of you to say. Would you pass me my wine please? It's right over there next to the coffee machine."
"Oh, was that yours? I threw it away. I'm sorry."
"That's alright. I'll pour myself another one. So you really think I deserve employee of the month?"
"Um, sure you do."
"Thanks, hon, that's sweet. Do you want a glass?"
"Um, no thanks. I still have tables," said Jasmine.
"Yeah, me too. Are you sure you don't want some wine? C'mon girl, catch up with me, this is my third one."
At this point a customer comes up to us at the bar even though it should be abundantly clear that we are in the middle of a conversation that she is not a part of it.
"Do you have a restroom?" she asks.
I stare at the dumb bitch because of course we have a restroom. What, she thinks we just piss in a pot? She's gonna interrupt my conversation and cocktail hour to waste my time asking me stupid ass questions? God I hate fucking customers, they get on my damn nerves.
"Yes, ma'am, it's downstairs and to the left," says Jasmine with a smile.
"Yeah, duh," I say and then I take a sip of my wine. "Stupid bitch. So anyway Jazzy Jazz, I would love to be employee of the month. Don't you get some money or something for it? Work your magic. Bring it."
A few minutes later, the lady who had so rudely interrupted our conversation before asks me for her check. As soon as I finish my phone call, play my Words With Friends turns, eat a handful of Goldfish, finish my wine and update my Twitter, I take her check to her.
"Do you need change?" I ask.
"Yes," she says all curt like I have inconvenienced her by asking her a simple little question.
I go back to the bar, check my Facebook and email, tell the bartender about a funny video I saw on You Tube and then take her change to her. She acts like she's been waiting forever. What is her problem, anyway? Why is she such a bitch? Man, I hate customers.
The meeting where the voting for Superstar Employee of the Month happens was on Thursday. It's a mandatory meeting, meaning everyone absolutely under all circumstances has to attend. I didn't go. I had cramps. Later that night I got a text message from Jasmine. I don't know what time she sent it because I was too busy watching three episodes of "Here Comes Honey Boo Boo" that I had on my DVR. Plus, I had cramps.
"Congrats!! You won!"
I reply, "How much money do I get?"
"Your picture goes on the wall and you get $100! Way to go!"
"Right. Gotta go. Honey Boo Boo's back on."
So tomorrow, I will carry my head shot to work to put inside the Superstar Employee of the Month frame. It could all be a ruse and when I show up with my picture and my palm out asking for my hundred dollars, they will all laugh at me like I'm Carrie and then someone will dump a bucket of pig blood on me except it won't really be blood, it will just be grenadine. Even if it doesn't really happen, at least I'll know that for a few short hours, I at least thought I was the Superstar Employee of the Month instead of the lazy bitch that I am.
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