Bitter, Party of One? Your Table is Ready

Within a few short days, I will be back to waiting tables. As I typed that just now, a tear fell onto my keyboard and I heard a one-eyed waitress laughing at me from far far away. For the past few weeks I have been okay with feeling like and actor and then being on vacation and not having any waiter nightmare sweats. But by this time next week, I will be ironing my uniform and practicing my fake smile. I need to sprinkle some Pristiq on my Cheerios and take an extra heaping helping dose of Paxil in order to fight a severe case of the sads... Here are a few things I am not looking forward to:

• carrying ice that is not part of my cocktail



• eating hummus while squatting behind the bar so no one see me



• having to ask if Pepsi is alright when someone orders a Coke



• scraping wax from a table because a lady thought her ass was small enough to squeeze into a booth but it wasn't and she knocked over a candle



• trying to remember what a regular orders because I don't even recall that shit when I don't have 9 weeks off



• trying to remember what my number is to log into the computer. (seriously, Tom...what is it?)



• standing in front of a computer that has no internet access or porn because it is only good for placing drink orders



• serving cocktails while other people are performing and trying to remember that the applause is not for me



• saying I am a waiter



• explaining where I have been over and over again to people who don't really care, they just want their fucking drink



• wearing long sleeved shirts



• wearing long pants



• wearing socks

There are a few things I am looking forward to:

• my after shift cocktail



• seeing my co-workers



• my after shift cocktail



• tips and cash in my pocket



• my after shift cocktail



• being home again



• my after shift cocktail



• having new stories to bitch about on this fucking blog



• my after shift cocktail

Can you think of anything else that will make me feel better about slapping the apron back on? Please help me. I am trying really hard to not be all dpressed and shit.

Reality? Check, Please.

After a few weeks of living high on the hog and not waiting tables, reality is about to bitch slap me in the face and throw a tray in my hands. I go back to serving this week. Thankfully, it is only a couple of shifts before my vacation kicks in and then after vacation I get to be full time actor for two more weeks. In the meantime, I shall serve. It has been well over a fortnight since having the privilege of bringing people food and drink and I fear that I have lost my touch. What if I don't remember how to carry a tray? Or what if I have forgotten how the computer works? Or what if it slips my mind that I am at work and that vodka gimlet is for a customer and not me? I fool myself. We all know that waiting tables is like riding a bicycle. A horribly evil bicycle without a seat on it that rams you in the ass with a rusty pole every time you try to get back on it. Waiting tables is like herpes. It never ever goes away. Sometimes it might not be so bad but then all of a sudden a flare up happens and you go, "Oh yeah...I'm a waiter." There is no cure for waiting tables. Even if you don't do it for a few years, all it takes is an apron around your waist to instantly recall your muscle memory and switch to automatic pilot. I went for two and half years once without working in a restaurant and by the end of my first day back I was doing it with one hand tied behind my back. The other hand was holding a steak knife and trying to stab out my eyes to avoid seeing that I was working in a restaurant again.

I can already see how my first day back at work will be.

Me: Hello there, sir. Do you know what you'd like to drink?
Customer: Hey! I haven't seen you in a while, where ya been?
Me: I was out of town doing a play. Do you know what you'd like to drink?
Customer: A play? Are you an actor? Wow! What play?
Me: Just a play. A musical, actually. Do you know what you'd like to drink?
Customer: I didn't know you were an actor. That's great. How did I not know that?
Me: I guess it just never came up in our many one on one conversations. Do you know what you'd like to drink?
Customer: Well, back to waiting tables I guess. Hardy har har. Can I get a glass of water? With lemon?
Me: I hate you.

At this point, I will look around the room and realize that I am not a working actor anymore. I will then go to the bathroom and cry a little, wash my face and plaster a smile on my lips. I will make my way to the bar and beg for a welcome home shot of tequila to get me through the rest of my shift. By the end of the night I will have resigned myself to the fact that I am again a server. The next shift will be back to normal, my soul a little bit dead inside. If you look closely into my eyes, you will see a little bit of hope. The hope will be floating on top of the vodka.


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