Chew Chew Train, Part Two

Once before I wrote about being on a train and it was not a very great experience. In fact I would feel comfortable saying it was the opposite of great which is shitty. However, while on vacation I traveled by train from San Francisco all the way to Portland, Oregon. It was scheduled to be a 17 hour train ride which blossomed into a 25 hour train ride. It wasn't so bad because I had a first class ticket (I'm fancy) and my own private sleeping quarters. Meals were also included and they were served on real plates with real silverware and served by a real honest to goodness waitress that stepped right out of a television sitcom. You know of my love for Flo, Alice and Shirley and this waitress was like all three of them rolled into one snarky wise ass waitress. I never got her name, so I shall refer to her as Pearl.

Pearl was one of those waitresses who always has a quick comeback whenever you ask for anything and if she didn't say it with a smile and a wink you would just think she was a total bitch. I wanted to know what it was like to wait tables on a train and live in the same place that you work for days at a time. She told us that her days were 18 hours long and she worked three days in a row and then had six days off. As if waiting tables isn't hard enough, Pearl has to do it 18 hours at a time and on a train that sways back and forth as it rolls across the country. She was my new hero. I asked her how she managed to deal with such a crazy kind of job. Her answer: drugs. I just fell in love with her a little bit more. I think she meant something like Ambien or Prozac, but in my mind I imagined good ol' Pearl curled up in her sleeping quarters while sucking on a crackpipe and free basing some crystal meth before her breakfast shift.

By the end of my breakfast, she told me that her drugs had kicked in and she had a joke for me. "What do you call a cow eating grass?" she asked. In my world that would just be a hamburger, but she told me the answer was a "lawn mooer!" And then she busted out laughing like it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard. Hmm, maybe she really was on crack. Her joke led to a whole smorgasbord of bad jokes from every other table in the dining car. And here they are:

Q: What do you call a group of rabbits walking backwards?
A: A receding hare line!

Q: What do you call a monkey with a time bomb?
A: A baboom!

Q: What did the fish say when it swam into the wall?
A: Dam!

Q: Why was six afraid of seven?
A: Because seven ate nine!

Thank you, folks. I'm here all week. Try the veal.

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Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures

Yes, I am still on vacation so maybe you will enjoy this post from when I was looking for a job last summer. And since part of my vacation is taking place on a train, I thought this was apropos.

The Bitchy Waiter

Looking for a new restaurant job sucks big hairy donkey balls covered in dingleberries. There, I said it. What especially sucks about it is that you have to expel all this energy for something you don't even want to do. And at this time of year, no one is hiring because every restaurant is closing up their patio and cutting shifts. Whenever I walk into a place the bartender or waiter says the same thing. "Hi. One for lunch?" Then I have to say that I am looking for a job and I see their eyes shift into a look of pity towards me. They take my resume to "put on file" but I know what that means. It goes into a drawer for a week and then it gets thrown out. I know this because I have been the one that throws that crap out. But I persevere.

Craigslist is a veritable feast for restaurant jobs, but you never know what you are applying for. I saw an ad today that caught my bloodshot eyes. It said "Waitstaff/Entertainers, Weekends Only." I can do that. I can do waitstaff. I can entertain. I sent my crap via the internets I sent my waiter resume, actor resume and headshot. (Don't judge.) Lo and behold I got a call. The guy starts to tell me about the job and I have to interrupt him to ask him which place he is from. Hello, I have emailed about a thousand places. He tells me that he needs waitstaff who can sing and he sees that I have extensive musical theater background. (Don't judge.) So I am thinking it is some lame ass singing waiter job at like a 1950's diner themed restaurant or something. He asks if I can make drinks. "Sure I can, I do it every night." I didn't tell him I meant at home. Then he asks if I can cook. What does he want? A singing waiter/bartender/chef? Jeez, what am I getting into? Then he tells me it is on a train. A train. Uh huh. For a flat fee of $250, he wants me to meet him at an Amtrak station on Saturday at noon to prep the train. Like I know how to prep a train. A salad bar, yes. Train, no. I would be serving food on a train going to Vermont and then entertain the patrons who, he informed me, are all old . And how would I entertain all these old people? Why with a karaoke machine, of course. I kid not. Then we would spend the night in Vermont and I would be home Sunday night at midnight. What is this? I would be gone for 36 hours. I don't even know this man. What if I get on the train and there is some serious Agatha Christie shit going on? Intrigue, murder and mayhem! And how do I know what kind of place I will be spending the night at in Vermont? He said he had a suite for the crew, but what if I end up sharing a bed with a hairy greasy cook named Bruce? And what if I after all this crap he decided to only pay me twenty bucks? And you know what's really fucked up? I actually thought about it doing it. I asked to think about it for 15 minutes and then I came to my senses and called back and said no thanks.

I just want to serve brunch. Is that too much to ask?

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