Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Likable? Me?

It seems apparent to me (and I hope I may say this without even a whiff of hubris) that there is something particularly endearing, attractive, or fascinating about my person, sufficient to attract the continued friendly relations of a great number of diverse peoples with whom I may have much or absolutely nothing in common. I write this in a somewhat bewildered state, for I do not have a great deal of regard for my communicative skills. Indeed, I do not think I am particularly witty or original or versed in social commentaries. I'm not very fond of myself; why should others be? In short, I have not much to bring to the table besides an eager laugh and a hideously large mouth. For all my self-deprecation, I do talk about myself rather a lot. Also, I am overly critical of others and always have several complaints on the tip of my tongue. How is it, then, that I happen to be the target, at times most unwillingly, of any person with half a mind to converse? And I do mean that quite literally.

It must be said, in the interest of any self-proclaimed womanizers (and I happen to know for a fact that it would be a point of pride for those insensitive, half-witted, macho types) that I have, without a doubt, an appreciably large bust, of the variety that garners wolf-whistles, horn-soundings, gawks, and all manner of unpleasant and uneducated, sexually explicit remarks, which are, quite plainly, an affront of human decency. And so I may assume that perhaps half my acquaintances only speak to me as an excuse to oggle my bosom, or that is the reason our dialogue was originally opened. This does not, however, account for the remarkable number of perfectly heterosexual females with whom I converse on a regular basis - indeed, who appear, to all extents, to really enjoy my company.

I am, dear readers, if I have got any, without exaggeration, flabbergasted, floored, astonished, astounded, and, most particularly, flattered. But my question to you, if there's any "you" to speak to, is, "What, to your knowledge, could induce such a severe miscarriage of judgement, or perhaps, what, that I am unaware of, could make my company or conversation the smallest bit interesting, enlightening, or otherwise of a desirable nature?"

Readers, audience, fellow bloggers, if any English-speaking person on the planet is reading this, you are my only hope for honesty and understanding, for my friends, or so I like to call them, have the audacity to persist in telling me that I am sweet, intelligent, or amusing in response to my queries.

Well, I have now got to go to the loo quite urgently, which is not surprising considering the volume of caffeinated beverages I consume in a very small space of time. So, once again, I bid you adieu! I suggest you now enjoy the caffeinated beverage of your choice, unless you intend to go to bed after a hard night's web-surfing, or web-slinging in the case of Mr. Parker (of whom, incidentally, I am very fond).

But I digress, as I am wont to do, and is, indeed, my eccentricity of choice. If you have suffered through my ramblings, you have my thanks, whatever that is worth, and I beg your pardon. So goodnight, good morning, good afternoon, or good luck! (Delete inappropriate well-wishings as necessary).

Monday, March 10, 2008

Restaurant Behavioral School

As a waitress, I am subject to the whims of the most abominable people. Though I may be standing with menus and silverware in hand, when customers walk in the door, they immediately hail me to seat their party of fifty. They proceed to order drinks we don't serve and become disconsolate when I tell them so. Their children, who make up at least three quarters of the party, without delay rip their menus to shreds and toss them  to the floor. Before I can even take their order, they have run me back to the kitchen ten times for extra lemons, crackers, and silverware and napkins to replace the ones already littered beneath the tables. The whole time, the males of their party are ogling me without discretion. They make rude jokes and shriek like a banshee if I'm delayed in bringing a refill. They do not order desert, but continue to guzzle ten, twelve, or fifteen free refills, and stay from five o'clock till midnight, when we close. One boy has vomited his dinner on the floor and the last one to leave is a young man who must be physically removed from his seat, because he refuses to go until I give him my phone number. In their wake, they leave hash browns mashed into the carpet, spilled drinks, half-melted butter in ponds, which takes all the hours between closing and opening to clean thoroughly. My reward for this stretch on the rack of knives and forks is ninety-seven cents, in pennies.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am a professional. I could rattle off every item on the menu and take those fifty orders without writing them down. With my expert training, I can balance three trays of hot food. My accomplishments did not come naturally, though. I had to weather the rigorous training that must come before a server ever receives a tip. Why should not the same go for customers? Doctors, lawyers, servers all are educated for years in order to succeed at their jobs. Customers are so slack in their efforts and achievements that one would assume they'd never had a thought about it! We also, in our society, put much emphasis on training before driving an automobile. The same responsibilities to their fellow men applies to restaurant customers. I humbly put forth, for the benefit of all, that prospective customers be required to attend merely a six week course in restaurant behavior before being allowed to enter a  public eatery. At the end, if they pass their final exam, taken in the secure environment of a simulated restaurant, they will be issued a Class A Restaurant Customer License.

In training, prospective customers will be taught the appropriate voice level and language to use in a restaurant. Their handbook will  contain such useful information as: parties of no more than four allowed; the 1:2 child to adult ratio; a customer is only allowed one "extra" request; the reminder that your refill is secondary to someone else's hot food. They will also receive a packet containing a stopwatch - customers are allowed up to, but not exceeding, five minutes after the last member of their party has finished eating; a chart to assess the messiness of your children and whether they will be allowed in the restaurant; a large, shiny sticker to remind men that their eyes must be kept at all times on the face of the server or not directed at her at all; a calculator to assure accurate figuring of at least the standard 50% tip.

Customers who do not follow the rules set forth in the official Restaurant Behavior Manual will be subject to citations and embarrassing displays of their idiocy by Restaurant Police. One may have his License revoked and be sent to a remedial course in restaurant behavior.

As far as my vast knowledge encompasses, I am unaware of any other suggested solution to cure the customers. This would, additionally, have a wonderful effect upon the whole of society, as the customers would find themselves in a far pleasanter atmosphere and the lessons learned in Restaurant Behavior School would carry over into other areas of their lives. One would certainly notice a decrease in the smoking habits of servers, customers being the main cause of their strife. I press my audience to advocate for this sensible cause with all possible zeal and hopefully you shall all soon carry Class A Restaurant Customer Licenses.

Saturday, March 8, 2008

Great Big Terrible Awesome Scary Wonderful World

Today I woke up at three in the afternoon and it was raining.

I dislike the rain.

That is why I usually sleep during these times. When the heavens are feeling moody, I certainly am not the one to challenge their disposition. I would rather hide.

I would rather hide from a great many things.

But I digress. Unfortunately, I felt it necessary to go out today, because I happen to be in New York City, and I don't have the pleasure of being at the center of the universe every day. This great pleasure, however, ends in roughly two minutes.

In two minutes, I must hail a cab (one of the least pleasant things about NYC) to LaGuardia Airport, and bid farewell the Big Apple, or, as I prefer to call it, the Hot Guys Capital of the World.

In two minutes, I was able to write only that one sentence, so for now, my new friends, it is adieu. Hopefully, I have some friends to whom this is addressed, but I am not terribly hopeful, for I fear I am dreadfully dull.

If and when I blog again, I shall try to put in some comedic bits about something or other. And perhaps about my life. Yes, that is what "bloggers" seem to talk about in general, is it not? For this unhappy excuse for a blog, I beg your pardon. I fear my skills are woefully inadequate for this type of buggery.