blogging_it_out

 I'm a waitress by trade; a writer at heart.
I've got tons of waitress stories saved up and I come home from work almost every day with another one.
Here's yesterday's tale:
I went in to work and was not in the best of moods. I'd worked six days straight, I didn't feel all that great, I've been stressed as all get out about money and my car has been acting even funkier than usual.
But.
I soldier on, because that's what I do.
I got my first table.
Two well-dressed, middle-aged women who you'd think would know better.
I adjust my uniform, smooth my ponytail and turn my frown upside down.
"Hi there ladies," I say brightly. "How are you two doing today?"
"I hate the pancakes here," one of the says to the other, completely ignoring my greeting.
But, again, I soldier on.
"My name is ...."
The pancake hater finally acknowledges me.
"Sweet tea," she says. "Extra lemon. No ice."
Well, no. Sweet tea is an excellent guess, but it's not my name.
The other lady doesn't even bother to look up from her menu as she demands an unsweetened tea with no lemon and extra ice.
Okay.
I get their drinks and set them down before her majesties.
The one that ordered the sweet tea asks me which one is sweet.
"It's the one with no ice and the lemons. The one that's in front of you," I say politely and then quickly start to tell them about the specials.
"Not interested," they interrupt in unison.
"Okay then, were y'all ready to order," I ask them.
"Yes," they reply.
::silence::
::birds chirping::
"Um, what would you like?"
"I'll have my usual," one says and the other follows with a "Yes, me too."
Stuff like this happens all too frequently. I don't remember ever seeing these two women before and even if I had, I highly doubt I'd remember what their 'usual' is. (I DO have regulars that I remember, but they're NICE.)
I smile. "And that would be ....
They looked insulted, but hey, what can you do?
"I want the catfish. One piece, not two. Grilled with no spice. I don't want it fried, I want it grilled. No breading whatsoever. No spice whatsoever. Baked potato with extra butter and sour cream and a salad. Frence dressing on the side."
I write it down and turn to the other lady, but the first one obviously doubts my intelligence.
"Now you be sure and tell them I want it grilled, okay? Did you write grilled? Could you repeat my order back to me?"
Yeah sure. Fried catfish, extra spice. Evil woman.
I deliver their lunches and THREE hours later they're still sitting there chatting.
When they finally decide to leave they come hunt me down to give me a tip.
"We don't leave tips on the table where your co-workers will steal it," they say as one of them discreetly palms some money into my hand.
It was $1.50.
A DOLLAR - FIFTY!
Lady, you could've kept that. Maybe bought yourself a little personality with it or something.
I'm not ungrateful, but please.
I've been a waitress for fifteen years. It was never my first career choice, I always planned to be a famous novelist by now, but it's done well for me. I've been able to singlehandedly support two children and, at times, various members of my family.
People sometimes ask me what my "real" job is. 
Well, this is it.
Some may not consider it a real job, but I do bring home real money. There are days when I don't make enough to pay attention, but more often than not, I average at least $15 an hour.
That's not TOO shabby, eh?
I just wish that people would realize what a hard job it is. It doesn't take a whole lot of brains or education, no, but it does take patience, organization, sensitivity and a darned good memory. And, most importantly, a good attitude - even when people insult you, degrade you, and are just generally rude, you have to take it and smile.
I remember when I was working my first job. It was called The Dining Room in Suffolk, Va. and it had been in business for about a hundred years. There were regulars that came in three times a day, seven days a week. One of these regulars, his name was Lee, came in for lunch one day and he brought in a couple of people he worked with. He'd always been clean-shaven but for the past couple of weeks, he'd been growing a beard. One of the women with him was telling him that it looked terrible and he needed to shave it off and blah, blah, blah. When I approached the table she looked up at me and asked me what my opinion on the beard was. He had a very weak chin and he honestly looked a hundred times better with facial hair so I told the truth: I liked it.
She looked at me like I was scum and then said: "What the hell do you know? You're just a waitress."
I went home and cried that day.
People are so mean sometimes and, although I'm sure it isn't the only profession where this happens, waitresses often bear the brunt of that meanness. Why do some people feel the need to be that way? Does it make them feel better about themselves? Validate their superiority? I honestly want to know because I just don't get that kind of behavior. I would never intentionally treat anyone like that - we're all human, we're all God's children and none of us are any better than the other no matter what level of education we have or how fat our bank accounts are.
Oh well.
This was intended to be a humourous entry on the pet peeves of servers around the world but it seems to have taken on a melancholy tone, so I'm stopping it.
Y'all come back now, you hear?

 I had a dream about a co-worker last night - one that I don't particularly care for (I mean he's okay, but not really a friend or anything) - and I woke up with a HUGE crush on him. 
Seriously.
I LOVE him so much right now and all I want to do is go to my current place of employment, see if he's there and, if he is, jump his sexy bones.
Ugh.
I make myself sick.
This is what being a celibate (by choice!) will get ya.
I just started this LJ yesterday and I've read some excellent journals already. The only thing that bothers me (it doesn't really bother me, I just can't think of another word for it right now) is the lack of responses.
On my other blogging site, I get a multitude of responses almost as soon as I post something new. 'Course I've been there for YEARS and have quite a few regular readers so that's why. But still. I'm an attention whore and I like getting feedback.
Perhaps it's better this way.
Now I can just write for myself and not for entertainment value.
And that's really what it's all about, right:?
It's barely noon and I'm ready for a nap.
*yawn*
And NO! I don't want to go back to sleep just so I can see if my previous dream will pick back up where it left off....
Or do I?
=)