Every now and again, I’m going to bring back an older post that many of you frequenting my site may not have had the opportunity to read. Here is one of them now:

As I walk into the bathroom, I hear someone talking very excitedly into the phone in the closed-door stall. Curious, I listen in as I use the urinal.

Him: “Listen, baby, I’m here with my wife. How’s an hour sound?…Okay…Yea…Yea…No, that won’t work…Yea!…Okay, see you then.”

The look he gave me as he walked out of the stall and saw me washing my hands was one of first confusion and then fear. My expression nearly matched his as I realized this was the same man who just minutes ago I was serving onion soup and two Philadelphia sushi rolls to. I didn’t know this dude was my customer.

For the rest of the meal, the knot in my stomach made its way up into my throat as I saw this man affectionately kiss his wife, hold her hand with his left and feed his infant daughter steamed rice and cheerios with his right. I wonder if she had any idea. I wonder if their marriage was any good. I wonder if they laid in bed until 2 in the morning talking like my girlfriend and I do. I wonder if when he came back to the house he’d made a home, he showered before kissing his wife hello.

As they left, I heard the man say, “Okay, honey. I’ll catch up with you two at the house. I’ve gotta help Donald with something with his car.” She kissed him, smiled and walked out the front door and into her car. He stayed at the bar a few extra minutes and then jumped into his own car. I guess he’d thought ahead and brought two.

He was smiling too.

Her: “I’d like a Shrimp and Scallops dinner, hold the shrimp.”
Me: “Umm…so…you want a Scallops dinner? You know, we have those as well. They come with a…”
Her: “Oh, I was just using a figure of speech.”
Me: “A what?”
Her: “A figure of speech. Live a little, kid.”
Me: “Kid? Okay. Well, would you like a refill on your regular Coke hold the calories? Or do you want me to just get you a Diet Coke from now on?”
Her Husband: “Hahahahahahahaha!”

There’s a girl named Emily at our work. My friend Marybeth works with her quite often. This girl, Emily, will quite literally talk about herself all day long.

For instance, after hours of working, she walked up to Marybeth and said “I really don’t know my hair stays so silky smooth all. day. long.” This is while stroking her black head of hair like a horse’s mane or something. Marybeth, on the other hand, is red in the face from (get this) running around and earning her money.

All the guys in the house: Who would you rather date? Really? I rest my case, Emily.

And that’s not the half of it. This is the same girl that asked me THE DAY I CAME INTO TOWN FROM SIX WEEKS ON THE ROAD PLAYING DRUMS IF I WOULD PICK UP HER SHIFT THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON. This is the same girl that will literally get pissed at you when you won’t give her your Friday night shift. This is the same girl that, when given a shift out of the goodness of someone’s (i.e. mine) heart will try and get out of work a few hours early because she’s bored.

Oh, is all that hair not exciting enough?

Before I begin this post, let me just start by explaining that the reason I’m not posting up here after I said I would is because the band I was in received a couple of extra opportunities to record and play shows around my home state. Things will wrap up by next week and I’ll be writing more regularly.

That said, let’s do this.

I was waiting tables this one night and as I passed a table in the middle of the restaurant, a woman had a half-full glass of Coke.

A little backstory: We got these new 24- or 28-ounce cups. I can never remember which. Regardless, half of a glass of Coke is still a hell of a lot of Coke.

So as I pass the table, Cruella deVille gives me this snide little look and says “Waiter, come over here a moment.”

Let me tell you three things the bitch got wrong with those six words:

1. Don’t call me “waiter”. Say something like “excuse me” or “sir” or “mister”. Calling me “waiter” is on par with calling you “stuck-up fat bitch”; while you may be one, it irks you when someone calls you that to your face.

2. You didn’t say “please”. Go fuck yourself.

3. You called it a “moment”. Not a “second” or a “minute”. A “moment”. Refer to Number 2’s “Go fuck yourself”.

So I go over to the woman with my best shit-eating grin and ask:

Me: “Is there something I can do for you?”
Her: “Yes. This half-full glass of Coke looks odd, wouldn’t you say?”
Me: “Not…uh…really?”
Her: “It doesn’t?”
Me: “Looks like a healthy glass of Coke, ma’am.”
Her: “You haven’t been serving very long, have you?”
Me: “…”
Her: “Can you fetch me another Coke?”
Me: “Do I get a treat afterwards?”
Her: “Excuse me?”
Me: “Do I get a treat afterwards?”
Her: “Excuse me?”
Me: “You’re not very good at this, are you?”

I got her the drink. Diet Coke, though. Like I said, she was a stuck-up fat bitch.