Sunday, July 24, 2011

Better Be... GRYFFINDOR!!!!

My lovely aunt and uncle joined my equally if not more lovely mother and father for dinner at my horrible terrible restaurant last night.  They proceeded to tip me outrageously and earned themselves the right to park it in one of my primo tables for as long as they pleased.  Also they're my family, so they could pretty much do whatever they liked.  
Now, I did my waiter duties, refilling drinks and all that, but I glanced at my ESPN app and saw that Hamels had held on and neatly spanked the Padres, so I bounded over to relay the good news to my diehard fan dad.  Dad, half-jokingly, tells Bonnie and Bob about how furious I was when the Phils traded for Oswalt instead of Cliff Lee. 
**Side Note: I love Cliff Lee.  I love him more than I love Doc, more than I love Hamels, and only slightly more than I currently love Vance Worley.  So his banishment was infuriating, especially when I went to Oswalt's opening game and his first pitch was a triple to a WASHINGTON NATIONAL.  There was only shame and rage.  Luckily, I was sitting a few rows behind the Phils' dugout and screamed and screamed my displeasure in true Phan Phashion and Manuel heard me was forced to contest with my big fat angry trap**
Naturally, the story is told and I become animated (ie: heated) in my convictions that Oswalt is a pile of poop that has yet to do anything great for the Phils.  Bob and my dad started joking on which of myself, or two of my cousins would get married first.  Bob's bet was none.
My first thought was "WELL HECK I DON'T WANT TO GET MARRIED ANYWAY!!"  I don't remember what I actually told Bob, probably something snarky, but then I realized it's absolutely true.  I might want to get married some day, but only if I meet someone I actually want to be married to, I have absolutely no intention of "settling down".  That phrase carries some of the worst connotations.  
Thus I proudly march about, scorning the men that leave numbers on their credit card slips (FYI-never do that if you're not planning to tip at least 30%) and those that make awkward conversations in Harris Teeter; trying to have as much fun and be the best artist I can possibly be.
I would rather be an artist than a wife.  I will only be with someone who would see me as an artist rather than a wife.

In unfortunately related news, I got off work early tonight and came home to eat ice cream in my glasses while watching a Lifetime Original Movie on JK Rowling.  When Steph came home, she started watching it too, so I suppose I technically watched the horrid thing twice, but the majority of the second time was spent Googling Newly Hot Neville and trying to figure out when that transformation happened.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Waiter Rant

Waiter:  Hi guys, how are you tonight?  May I get you started with something to drink?
Mr. Rude Diner:  Gimme a club soda with a lime, and *waves his hand at his wife* what do you want?
Mrs. Rude Diner:  Oh for God's sake,  Jim, I don't know!
Waiter:  M'am, if you need a minute to look over the drinks, I'm more than happy to come back.
Mr. RD:   No.  We're ready.
Mrs. RD:  Well, uhhhh, do you have caffeine free Diet Coke?
Waiter:  I'm afraid not.
Mrs. RD:  Do you have decaff coffee?
Waiter:  Sorry m'am, we only have caffeinated coffee.
Mrs. RD:   Really?!  Hmm... well, how's your iced tea?  Is it sweet tea?
Waiter:  Nope, it's unsweetened, m'am.
Mrs. RD:  Is it flavored?
Waiter:  No, we just have plain, unsweetened tea.  *Now I'm noticing another table needs refills on their Diet Cokes, a different tables' food is up, and I have just been double sat*
Mrs. RD:  Oh.  Well yuck.  Uhmmm...
Mr. RD:  Jesus, just pick something.  They have lemonade?
Waiter:  Yes.  The list of drinks is right here-
Mrs. RD:  Is it fresh squeezed?
Waiter:  No, m'am, it's Minute Maid.
Mrs. RD:  Oh, well I don't want that then... hmmm....
Mr. RD:  Ok, well I want a roast beef club sandwich.  Only no lettuce, no tomato, no onion, and gimme an order of those onion rings too.
Waiter:   Sure, sir. *But I'm staring at the man frantically waving trying to get my attention to bring him his check, another man shooting me dagger-eyes because his Diet Coke is still empty, and one of the tables that has been sat because they are shaking their heads and looking around for the waiter they now assume to be lazy and incompetent*
Mrs. RD:  How about diet cream soda?  Do you have diet cream soda?
Waiter:  I'm sorry, we don't m'am.
Mrs. RD:  OK.  What kinds of soda do you have?
Mr. RD:  Actually, can we get a spinach and artichoke dip to start?
Waiter:  Ok, sir.  And we have Coke product m'am.
Mrs. RD:  So that means...?
Mr. RD:  But we don't want any of that pico del gallo  *pronounced as it's spelled*
Waiter: Sure.  Coke, Diet Coke, Sprite, Fanta Orange, Pibb, and Gingerale.
Mrs. RD:  Oh... Coke Zero?
Waiter: No m'am.  *one of my co-workers is dealing with the man who wanted his check and another is greeting the tables that have just been sat, pointing at me and smiling.  Diet Coke Punk is still glowering*
Mr. RD:  Girl, does my sandwich have mayo on it?
Waiter:  Yup, it does.
Mr. RD:  Yeah, none of that, but add some honey mustard.  And a side of hot peppers.
Waiter:  Ok sir.
Mrs. RD:  Ok.  I'll just have water.  But no ice, and honey, can I get an orange slice on it?
Waiter:  M'am, I'm afraid we only have lemons and limes. *Did that bitch just call me "honey"?!*
Mrs. RD:  Oh.  Ok.  Two slices of lime and three slices of lemon.  But no ice, did you hear me?  No. Ice.
Waiter:  Yes.  Ok.
Mr. RD:  What do you want to eat?
Mrs. RD:  Oh.  I don't know.
Waiter:  I'll give you a minute m'am.  I'll be right back with your drinks *and that fucker's Diet Coke*
Mrs. RD:  No, no.  I'll find what I want.
Mr. RD:  Are your hot peppers really hot?
Waiter:  Uhm.  I find them spicy, yes sir.
Mr. RD:  How spicy?
Waiter:  *losing patience*  an 8.  Sir.
Mr. RD:  Huh... ok.  No hot peppers, banana peppers on the side.
Waiter:  We don't have banana peppers.
Mrs. RD:  Ok ok, I want a crabmeat pizza.  But instead of a white pizza, I want tomato sauce on it.
Mr. RD:  You don't have banana peppers!?  Uh.  Oh.  Kay.  I'll have four jalepenos.  In a cup, no where near my plate.
Waiter:  Ok.
Mr. RD:  And I need a Diet Coke.  Did my wife order?
Waiter:  Yes, she did.
Mrs. RD:  Oh, honey, you don't like peppers.
Mr. RD:  Yes, I do.
Mrs. RD:  No, you always pick them off, remember?
Mr. RD:  Those are bell peppers, they're disgusting.  I like jalepenos.
Mrs. RD:  Oh.  I just thought you meant all peppers. Wait.  A garden salad... is that good?
Waiter:  As far as plain vegetables go.
Mrs. RD:  Oh... let's get one of those.  And I want no onions.  I'm allergic to onions.
Waiter:  Ok.  *There is no known allergy to onions and it is the basis of Western cooking.*
Mrs. RD:  And I want honey mustard, bleu cheese, and ranch dressings.  All on the side.
Waiter:  Ok.

These people will send me back to the kitchen at least three times for extra sides of lard-based condiments, sit and camp at my table with their $30 check for two more hours, and leave me a $4.50 tip.