bony fingers
first day of training today, and then a follow, at my new home, which i will dub The Restaurant. it was great. i had forgotten how much i actually like serving, the balancing of glasses on fingertips, the noise, the neverending movement, the constant, inexhaustible energy that is forced to flow for the entirety of your shift.
followed a girl, bee, who seemed to know her shit; she was patient with me, and trusted me to do things for her. the aggravation was that she began arguing- unabashedly- with another server (eric), who was sarcastic to her. both of them walked around with hackles raised the entire night. i felt caught in the middle, as is often the case when people are fighting in my presence. everyone seems normal and gossipy, so far. i don't think i'm pretty enough to be friends with any of the girls.
one of the cooks- name forgotten- talked to me. was surprised, as they always are, that i speak spanish. it came to the inevitable question: "so are you married? divorced? a widow? single?" i said i had a boyfriend. "yeah? where's he from?" why, chicago, of course. "what's he do for work?" why this was pertinent i'm unsure, but the gentleman was making polite conversation. it's been so long since i've been forced to make actual small talk that i forget these are normal questions to ask.
maybe i started a rumor in the kitchen, i don't know. i'm sure wearing pigtails didn't help.
all i have to do is fit in and get along with people. i don't know if i will. i think i am too overeager. but i dig the job. and it will only get better.
my dad: when are your days off?
me: none, hopefully.
the person who i am in love with who is not actually my boyfriend yet will be nicknamed pingu, for obvious reasons. and he was planning on coming here, and something came up. in half- no, three-quarters of the way- i am sad. but the other quarter is okay with it, since my stomach still looks the way it does. after three more weeks of working out i will perhaps look better.
followed a girl, bee, who seemed to know her shit; she was patient with me, and trusted me to do things for her. the aggravation was that she began arguing- unabashedly- with another server (eric), who was sarcastic to her. both of them walked around with hackles raised the entire night. i felt caught in the middle, as is often the case when people are fighting in my presence. everyone seems normal and gossipy, so far. i don't think i'm pretty enough to be friends with any of the girls.
one of the cooks- name forgotten- talked to me. was surprised, as they always are, that i speak spanish. it came to the inevitable question: "so are you married? divorced? a widow? single?" i said i had a boyfriend. "yeah? where's he from?" why, chicago, of course. "what's he do for work?" why this was pertinent i'm unsure, but the gentleman was making polite conversation. it's been so long since i've been forced to make actual small talk that i forget these are normal questions to ask.
maybe i started a rumor in the kitchen, i don't know. i'm sure wearing pigtails didn't help.
all i have to do is fit in and get along with people. i don't know if i will. i think i am too overeager. but i dig the job. and it will only get better.
my dad: when are your days off?
me: none, hopefully.
the person who i am in love with who is not actually my boyfriend yet will be nicknamed pingu, for obvious reasons. and he was planning on coming here, and something came up. in half- no, three-quarters of the way- i am sad. but the other quarter is okay with it, since my stomach still looks the way it does. after three more weeks of working out i will perhaps look better.