Not even to see Sarah Palin?

A regular comes in and announces,

"I'm leaving for Alaska at 3AM."

"To visit your daughter?"

"Yes."

"Is this your first time?"

"Of course! Why would I go to Alaska?"

"I don't know."

 "I wouldn't go to Alaska, but I have a daughter there. I'm trying to embrace it."

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Tiger found my blog

So it happened. I thought it might, but I wasn't holding my breath. Tiger read my blog. He didn't just read one post. He read a whole year's worth. Everything he's missed by not reading it. He was quoting funny parts all weekend. I tell him,

"I don't remember that, when was it? August?"

"You don't reread your blog?"

"Sometimes." But I do like to read things written by other people, like Facebook.

Good thing he knew he was Tiger or it could've been really confusing.

I think Tiger is funny, not as funny as me, but funny, 70% of the time. It's a general point of contention in our relationship. I'm not sure what the problem is, I already bumped him up from 60%. After reading my blog, Tiger tells me,

"You think I'm funny in the blog."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I get some good punchlines."

Tiger asks my bar manager,

"Does your girlfriend think your funny?"

"No."

"Did she ever?"

"Yeah, when we first started dating."

"Is it better if your girlfriend thinks you're funny and then doesn't, or if she never thinks you're funny?"

Tiger and I discuss this later and I say,

"As Ron Paul would say, I'm consistent."

"I don't get it."

"I was making a joke."

"Explain it to me."

"In the last Republican debate the nominees had to describe themselves in one word, Ron Paul said 'consistent.'"

"Oh, ok, so tell me the joke."

"That's it. It was just a reference."

"Oh."

Okay, so maybe I am funny only 99% of the time.

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I still have ten fingers

Don't worry, I'm fine. But I learned a good lesson at work yesterday. It is a BAD BAD idea to try to catch a falling knife.

They know what they're doing?

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I can't decide whether I'm the cat or the little girl who looks like she might die

I'm supposed to meet a girlfriend in Cambridge at 5:30pm. She calls me at 5:15. She lost her wallet and does not have any money on her T pass. She's trying to make it to her bank in Cambridge by 6pm to get a new debit card. I want to tell her to sneak through without paying or beg someone for two dollars. Before I can say anything, she says,

"I'm going to cry."

"Don't worry, I'm coming."

I get to the T in Boston. I swipe her through. We run for the train back to Cambridge. We run up to the bank at 5:50. Success! Now we need a drink. My friend reminds me that she doesn't have an ID. I reassure her that I know people. I don't know that many people, so we end up at a bar owned by the same guys who own my bar.

We get drinks, food and then there's one of the owners. I forget that I was really mad at him a week ago and go into "Flirty Jess mode," which is all giggles, smiles and no coherence. He asks,

"How are things going there?"

"Well..."

"I know the ship is rocking."

"I've got my life preserver on." And my apron. Sometimes.

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It was a bonding experience... AND I got a ride home

At 2AM, after ten hours of work, there's nothing I enjoy more than a ride home. But sometimes I have too much work to do and I miss the last server with a car, then I'll walk/try to catch a taxi.

The other night, the last server with a car asks,

"How much longer are you going to be?"

"Five minutes." It's probably more like ten, but I really want her to wait for me.

"Okay, I'll wait for you."

Another server and she wait. I finish. We head outside. She has a flat tire. I admonish them,

"You could've been tending to this ten minutes ago."

She sinks her head in her hands,

"I just want this car to get stolen."

This would be my cue to walk home, but now that she's waited for me I'd be a really big asshole if I didn't wait for her. I ask,

"Do you have AAA?"

"Yes."

The guy with us proclaims,

"I can do this by the time AAA gets here."

"You can?!" We both exclaim in unison.

He proceeds to get all the tools out of her trunk, takes off his coat, unscrews the tire, jacks up the car, and screws on the spare. What a man. This is one of the manliest things I've ever witnessed. I don't know what to say, I keep murmuring,

"What a man."

As he jacks up the car, the ten hours of working on my feet hit me and all I want is to sit down. I sink to the pavement. The woman with the car offers,

"You can sit in the car."

The guy, half-way under the car with the jack shouts,

"Absolutely not."

Dog rack for your bike. It's better than the flat-tire photos I found.

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We're the type of place people pull their pants up IN the bathroom

This may sound crazy, but I think everything is going to be okay. Even if I still have to wear my apron.

It's almost midnight, two women plop down at the bar. I serve them beers. One demands,

"Where is Pierre?"

"There's no Pierre who works here."

"He used to."

"I don't know."

"He was a bartender here forever."

"Oh, Peter?"

"Pierre, Peter, whatever."

"I'm sorry, he doesn't work here anymore."

"What's your name?"

"Jessica, what's yours?"

"Pierrietta. Just kidding! We were in Davis square, which doesn't look like a square, more like a triangle and we got kicked out of a bar there."

That's not what you're supposed to tell the bartender who just served you a drink. "Oh yeah?"

"Everyone was doing an Irish jig and I wasn't doing it right so they kicked me out."

I have a feeling I'm not getting the whole story. "You weren't doing it right?"

"I kept flailing my arms."

"Oh."

 "Don't worry, we're not going to cause you any trouble."

Two minutes later she stumbles out of the bathroom with her pants half-way up. She proceeds to pull them up and button them in public.

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Fashion is the least of my issues right now

I tell my mom about all my work anxieties. She says,

"I think it's going to be ok, but you may have to wear your apron."


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This is not good

Major management changes are happening at work and two week notices are flying. I'm not making any fast moves, but I have reservations, concerns, a general feeling of dread.

I mention the oncoming doom (that's a little overstated) to a regular. She gasps,

"Why don't they ask us?"

"Customers?"

"Yeah. Is there someone I can talk to?"

"Like a people's vote? I don't think that's going to work."

The people called in and voted "no" on the apron initiative. I'm still wearing an apron.

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At least I'm not behind you in a drive-thru

People and their drink orders can be frustrating. I'm not a mind reader, I don't want to hold your hand while you make this decision and you're right, your first date is judging you.

When someone wants a martini, this is how long the conversation usually lasts,

"I'd like a Tanqueray martini up with a twist."

DONE.

The other night a guy orders,

"I guess I'd like a regular martini."

"Sure." I'm hoping he'll elucidate on his own.

"Thanks."

"What kind of martini would you like?"

"A regular one." He sighs, as if I'm the problem.

"Vodka or Gin?"

"Vodka."

"What kind?"

"Ketel one."

"Up or on the rocks?"

"Up."

"Olives? A twist?"

"Twist."

"Ok." I start to make the cocktail.

"Wait!"

"Yes?"

"On the rocks."

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This blog will never defriend you, I promise

In therapy yesterday I mention Facebook. I try to spend as little time on the site as possible. I noticed that someone I haven't talked to in eight years defriended me. Why did she do that? Why do I care? I spend the next fifteen minutes seeing who else from that group of friends defriended me. We still have forty-three mutual friends. What am I doing? I have better things to do with my time. I wonder if I'm still friends with...

My therapist agrees and sighs,

"I spend a lot of time talking to people about getting defriended."

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