Hello, My Name is Bitchy Waiter...

I am back. This is the first new post in days and days so forgive any typos and the apathy that may creep into this writing. My brain is still on vacation mode. While gallivanting across the Pacific Northwest, I ventured into many dining establishments and was served by a variety of servers. Young or old, experienced or newbie, they all had one thing in common. Each and every one of them brought my ass a cocktail. It is not surprising that I drank my way through my vacation. What is surprising is that I carried a pen and paper with me so I could keep meticulous notes of all the alcohol that I ingested. On average it's about three cocktails a day so it's not like I have a fucking problem or anything. Some were better than others but all were divine. Below, you can witness the slow poisoning of my liver and I have listed where they each came from in case you want to sample them sometime. Some were made for me at the homes of friends but I am pretty sure if you turn up on Stephanie or Ron's door, they would be happy to make you a cocktail. Or at least give you the recipe.

• #1- Pisco Punch at my hotel The Galleria Park in San Francisco. Never had Pisco before but fucking loved it.
• #2- Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, Twin Peaks bar in The Castro
• #3- Pomegranate martini, 2223 restaurant
• #4- Pomegranate martini, 2223 restaurant
• #5- Margarita on the rocks with salt, Beach Chalet in Golden Gate Park
• #6- Pomegranate martini at Stephanie's house
• #7- Pomegranate martini at Stephanie's house
• #8- Pomegranate martini at Stephanie's house
• #9- some French beer at some French bistro. Bastille Day!
• #10- Blueberry rum fizz at my hotel
• #11- Kiwi cosmo, Catch restaurant
• #12- Vodka gimlet, Badlands bar in The Castro
• #13- Margarita on the rocks with salt, The Lodge in Sonoma, CA
• #14- Russian River Valley Chardonnay, Della Santina's restaurant
• #15- Wine tasting at Gundlach Bunschu winery
• #16- Wine tasting, Bartholomew Park Winery
• #17- margarita on the rocks with salt, Maya restaurant
• #18- Pomegranate martini, Stephanie's house back in San Francisco
• #19- Betel Juice (midori, rum and pineapple), Betelnut restaurant
• #20- Betel Juice (midori, rum and pineapple), Betelnut restaurant
• #21- Betel Juice (midori, rum and pineapple), Betelnut restaurant
• #22- Vodka/cranberry on Amtrak train going to Portland, OR
• #23- Frozen mango martini at Ron and Larry''s house
• #24- Pink margarita on the rocks with salt, Dots Cafe
• #25- Pink margarita on the rocks with salt, Dots Cafe
• #26- Mirrorball (watermelon vodka, cranberry, prosecco), Saucebox restaurant
• #27- Vodka gimlet, Ron Tom bar
• #28- Blackberry cosmo, Doug Fir Bar
• #29- Blood orange margarita on the rocks with salt, The Farm restaurant
• #30- Portland pomegranate martini at Ron and Larry's house
• #31- Portland pomegranate martini at Ron and Larry's house
• #32- Miss Mona (frozen vodka, orange juice and pomegranate), at Ron and Larry's house
• #33- Epic Peachy Bitchy Spritz (vodka, peach lemonade, seltzer), at Ron and Larry's house and thank you to Sarah for creating it.
• #34- a beer at Ron and Larry's house before getting on the plane

And in case any of you were wondering, I do not go to Alcoholics Anonymous. Yet

Is Vacation Over Yet?

This should be my last rerun because vacation is over. However, I reserve the right to continue being lazy for a couple more days. And in honor of vacation, here is a post about this delusional woman from a few months ago.

xo,
The Bitchy Waiter


This lady came in the other day and she's always a little bit of a pain in the ass. Just because she's a semi-regular, she thinks that she deserves special treatment. You know the type. As soon as she sat down she said she wanted something special to make her feel like she was on a tropical vacation. I hate when people say stupid shit like that. I wanted to suggest that she put on an ugly one piece bathing suit with a ruffle and then get a sunburn while listening to Tom Jones on her Walkman because I figured that's what she usually did when on a tropical vacation. Instead, I simply asked her what she would like to drink. She thought long and hard about this oh so complicated question. Suddenly her eyes lit up as she realized what drink would satisfy this tropical craving she was trying to fill. I couldn't wait for her to ask for a Pina Colada or Banana Daiquiri so I could tell her we don't have a blender. And then she asked for something that is so completely incongruous with tropical that I thought she was kidding. "Can I have a Frangelico and coffee?" She said it all whispery and shit with this snarky grin like it was so so daring of her to order this wild and crazy drink. What the fuck kind of tropical vacation does this bitch go on that she sits on a beach and drinks coffee? Is it a beach in Antarctica? Is she retarded? Then she altered her order a bit and requested iced coffee which made it a teeny bit more understandable. "And can you put some whipped cream on it so it really seems fancy?" Yeah, lady. Every drink I have ever had while on the beach had whipped cream on it and it made me think it was fancy, will do. I put about six inches worth of whipped cream on her drink because I knew it would make her wet her panties when she saw it. If I would have had one of those little paper umbrellas I would have stuck that in it too, but no such luck. Instead, I did one of those tricks you do with the paper of a straw to make it look like it was a flower. She squealed with pleasure when she saw it. This lady really needs a life. Or a vacation. But she loved me. Bitch loves her some Bitchy Waiter.

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Reality? Check, Please.

After a few weeks of living high on the hog and not waiting tables, reality is about to bitch slap me in the face and throw a tray in my hands. I go back to serving this week. Thankfully, it is only a couple of shifts before my vacation kicks in and then after vacation I get to be full time actor for two more weeks. In the meantime, I shall serve. It has been well over a fortnight since having the privilege of bringing people food and drink and I fear that I have lost my touch. What if I don't remember how to carry a tray? Or what if I have forgotten how the computer works? Or what if it slips my mind that I am at work and that vodka gimlet is for a customer and not me? I fool myself. We all know that waiting tables is like riding a bicycle. A horribly evil bicycle without a seat on it that rams you in the ass with a rusty pole every time you try to get back on it. Waiting tables is like herpes. It never ever goes away. Sometimes it might not be so bad but then all of a sudden a flare up happens and you go, "Oh yeah...I'm a waiter." There is no cure for waiting tables. Even if you don't do it for a few years, all it takes is an apron around your waist to instantly recall your muscle memory and switch to automatic pilot. I went for two and half years once without working in a restaurant and by the end of my first day back I was doing it with one hand tied behind my back. The other hand was holding a steak knife and trying to stab out my eyes to avoid seeing that I was working in a restaurant again.

I can already see how my first day back at work will be.

Me: Hello there, sir. Do you know what you'd like to drink?
Customer: Hey! I haven't seen you in a while, where ya been?
Me: I was out of town doing a play. Do you know what you'd like to drink?
Customer: A play? Are you an actor? Wow! What play?
Me: Just a play. A musical, actually. Do you know what you'd like to drink?
Customer: I didn't know you were an actor. That's great. How did I not know that?
Me: I guess it just never came up in our many one on one conversations. Do you know what you'd like to drink?
Customer: Well, back to waiting tables I guess. Hardy har har. Can I get a glass of water? With lemon?
Me: I hate you.

At this point, I will look around the room and realize that I am not a working actor anymore. I will then go to the bathroom and cry a little, wash my face and plaster a smile on my lips. I will make my way to the bar and beg for a welcome home shot of tequila to get me through the rest of my shift. By the end of the night I will have resigned myself to the fact that I am again a server. The next shift will be back to normal, my soul a little bit dead inside. If you look closely into my eyes, you will see a little bit of hope. The hope will be floating on top of the vodka.


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