The truth shall set you free

This might be a better blog if rather than just relay tales from the awesomeness that is my job, I occasionally relay a helpful tip that I've learned personally or from a fellow waiter...but not yet.

I was able to escape Prom night early enough to get home to study for my exams this week. In a stroke of delicious luck I was spared all of the big parties (tables), maybe for the first time ever of all the prom and homecoming nights I've worked... but not a single Hummer limo got annihilated by lightning or a big fist slamming down from heaven, proving once again that God loves to make it look like I'm talking to myself.

And speaking of God ignoring me, a few quick side notes here: If you love Jesus with all your heart and he loves you even more, and you conveniently happen to have a few business card-sized reminders in your pocket that explain that he loves me too and all I need to do to discover that love is to accept him as my lord and savior:
1. keep those cards
2. replace that $1.35 you just left me with something I can actually BUY SOMETHING WITH. I promise, 20% tippers don't automatically go to hell...although this one will. Up high!
3. Stay out of the left lane ALWAYS
If there's one thing keeping me from believing in a higher power, it's the fact that with the exception of the Dalai Lama, degrees of religiousness and frugality are always directly proportionate. It's a problem.

I walked by a fellow server's table the other night where a couple were sitting there with nothing but a couple of glasses of water and a basket of bread between them, reading verses from each of their own personal bibles to each other...both holding (the bibles) one-handed of course to allow for the holding of hands, smiling up at each other every few seconds. You'd know that was my table pretty quickly as I'd be sprawled out five feet farther down the aisle, bleeding from both wrists.

God bless.

Prom Night

I was just having an awesome morning, working on my second bowl of Cheerios, watching Spongebob and thinking about how I just rocked my Marketing final... when I remembered tonight's prom night...and I'm scheduled to work...and I'm alive.



Prom nights at the restaurant are the only instances I find myself actually wishing for a wicked case of pinkeye - a no-questions-asked stay home from work excuse...along with leprosy, anthrax, and losing two or more digits (must include a thumb). Compound the bitterness stemming from having not had the nerve to ask anyone to my own prom with the 9% tips I'll be getting from each of the appetizer and Coke-laden (separately) checked parties of 12, and you've got the recipe for another 8-hour mumbling self-hate session. Please God, either let me have an aneurysm on my way to work tonight or hit Raleigh with a savage lightning storm that takes out every other Hummer limousine on the road. If you even just get one of them I'll stop stealing the quarters out of the Muscular Dystrophy display at the gas station . I mean it this time.

"Hey, girls. Great dresses!! Do you like mine? You don't think it's a little too purple or makes me look like a genie or anything like that do you?"
"Um... Are you riding with us?"