First, some bitching:
When I work a day shift, I’m the server, cashier, hostess, buser, and bartender. Yep, I’m pretty much by myself. Pro Rodeo helps out of we are busy, but for the most part I’m on my own. So, when seating people I try to keep them in the front dining room…it’s closer to the kitchen, bar, and register, the tables are easier to clean, and I can spend less time running around and more time actually serving customers. When I greet people at the door I ask if they would like the front or the back dining room. Four out of five people say, “It doesn’t matter” and then immediately change their mind when I put the menus on a front table.
“It doesn’t matter” means just that…you don’t care where you sit as long as you sit. “It doesn’t matter” doesn’t mean you don’t care as long as I can read your mind and give you the table you want. I’M NOT A MIND READER and this shit makes me want to punch people in the stomach as I walk by (ala Steve Martin to John Candy in ‘Planes, Trains and Automobiles’).
Now a story from when I was gone.
Michele left last week and I’m lonely. We had tons of fun in the 2 1/2 months she was here.
Why was she here an extra 2 weeks?
Because she broke her foot cleaning my yard.
People who know me accused me of: pushing her down, stomping on her foot, or running her over. Those are vile people.
The truth is, I was on my deck picking a sticker out of my sock when I heard a thump. I looked over and Michele was on the ground with her foot in a trash can of grass clippings and dog shit while Sienna stood over her with a ‘WTF?’ look on her face. My first thought was that Sienna (who outweighs Michele by 10 pounds) knocked her down. My second thought was, “Kwitcherbitchin’. You can’t break your foot by toppling over.” I was wrong on both.
Sad thing is, we were sober. It would have been much funnier if we were drunk.