Memorial Day

I’m gonna go ahead & pretend I think people read this & keep it going over the summer. Maybe some facebook advertising can do the trick . . .

It’s been a while . . . I’ve been in the awkward transition from overdrive to stalled going from classes & exams to less than nothing since when you’re in college, your social life goes away when the semester ends because everyone lives in different parts of the country. Not only that, the first week of vacation, I didn’t go to work because I had something pinched in my back that’s been that way for a while & flares up every now & then. I had to miss two days of work. But when I returned, I picked up Monday nights, so my summer should be fairly fruitful.

            When I picked up the Mondays, I was picking them up from Matt who was dropping them . . . & it starts June 1^st . . . but this past Monday, I picked up a double hosting shift for Donna. She wound up coming in anyway to do carry out. But she wasn’t doing much & got off hours before I did. I walked in at noon after being shouted at by some lecherous motorist. As the hostess, I have to dress nicely & since it was a double, I wore my outfit that is as nice as comfortable gets & as comfortable as nice gets. George said I looked like a magician. It’s a plain white shirt with a black vest. Two shirts go with that vest & this was the less revealing of the two & I still got hollered at. Ah, this neighborhood. I wonder what they think they’ll accomplish . . . one day I hope to have the confidence to return fire & see if it freaks them out. Of course, that’s got backfire written all over it, but that’s a kink to be worked out later.

            Memorial Day. It’s a tricky one. You think, it’s a three day weekend, no one wants to come eat out, they want to relax at home. Those celebrating the holiday will be barbecuing. Or they’ll come for carry out crabs. But then there’s the fact that it’s a three day weekend . . . people have this extra day . . . it’s a holiday . . . let’s go eat out. No one wants to do any work so they go where someone else can clean up the mess from the crabs. So I wasn’t sure whether we’d be slammed or bored to tears. Turned out, it was a little of both. During the day, business was very slow & for a while into the evening, the only people showing up were those who had reservations. I had never dealt with so many reservations before & had everything worked out so that all the servers got equal cuts. Then I had to fit all the reservations in the sections. For a while it was easy. Then it got busy. And one woman came in to order carry out after Donna had left & insisted she was ready & then took ten minutes to order while people behind her are piling up uncomfortably & finally she gives my the order & I grab a handful of menus to start thinning out the crowd, & she tells me to go get the total NOW. So I have to go back to the computer & put in her order & bring her the total & by the time I get back, George has tried to help me. He tells me that he’s sat two people at table 22 & I’m mortified. Table 22 & 23 were supposed to turn into a reservation for 6 that’s arriving in half an hour. It’s on a post it with a few other reservations that I gave the busboy so he could set them up . . . he just didn’t beat George to the tables. George tells me to put the six at 23 & 24 . . . but a reservation for four is supposed to go at 24! And they’re arriving in 45 minutes! He says to put them at table 26 & that’s the kind of thing I hate to do. 26 is occupied. I am now trusting these people to pay their check & leave instead of socializing. I’m trusting that nothing goes wrong with their credit card to keep them there for a few minutes. That they won’t order some desert after their meal . . . or wait until the last minute to put in an order of an entrée to go for their sick mother at home & that’s another twenty minutes.

            This paranoia is something that goes on with everything I do. It’s why I check & double check & triple check everything. It’s why I plan things carefully & get places early. My mother is working the sounds board & lighting board for a show at Spotlighter’s & the subject came up & I think it might actually come from theatre. You don’t trust equipment. Every day you do a sound check. You check the lights, you make sure you’ve got all your props, & that everything is in place. My mother & I had a conversation about how things get checked so many times simply because of the nature of the vehicle that is theatre. Ya gotta. I had a reveal in a show that I had all worked out & it required very specific placement of a prop in my pocket. I know that sounds kinda dumb, but it really did need to be just right. I put that prop in the pocket just right as soon as I put the costume on, & checked it several times offstage & each time before an entrance & never touched it onstage. Every night it was perfect & it would have been perfect if I’d checked it only once before I went on for the scene where it came out, but the meticulous checking & rechecking is something I think I get from my mother.

            And if I didn’t have this blog with the mixed theme of theatre & waiting tables, I honestly would probably never find as many similarities as I’ve found in the exploration that is my attempt to keep my postings wholly relevant. Thanks for reading.