Tuesday, December 16, 2003
File Under: Always Nice to Hear
I'm running around like crazy at work. I have two four-tops in the addition, a four-top in the 200s, and a nine-top in the 60s. I have a stack of plates I'm trying to balance long enough to get them to the dishpit. I'm so scared I won't make it that I consider praying for help. Just then, one of the bussers takes them from me.
Me: Hey, thanks so much!
Busser: I'm only doing it because you're so beautiful.
Me (stopping momentarily mid-run because it's such a startling comment. Then I recover and keep going): Beautiful. That's a new one. No one ever calls me that.
Busser (calling after me): You arebeautiful.
I suppose a simple "Thank you" would have sufficed, but such a sudden, lavish, and undeserved compliment throws me off. Also, if he weren't such a hottie, I would have had an easier time taking it. But he's the kind of hottie that always gets me: crooked smile, shaggy hair, easy demeanor, completely unaware of his charm, and (dum dum duumm) he's a musician who's far too young for me. Perhaps one day, though, he will fly me away from the food-and-beverage industry in his Beautiful Bus Tub of Love.
Me: Hey, thanks so much!
Busser: I'm only doing it because you're so beautiful.
Me (stopping momentarily mid-run because it's such a startling comment. Then I recover and keep going): Beautiful. That's a new one. No one ever calls me that.
Busser (calling after me): You arebeautiful.
I suppose a simple "Thank you" would have sufficed, but such a sudden, lavish, and undeserved compliment throws me off. Also, if he weren't such a hottie, I would have had an easier time taking it. But he's the kind of hottie that always gets me: crooked smile, shaggy hair, easy demeanor, completely unaware of his charm, and (dum dum duumm) he's a musician who's far too young for me. Perhaps one day, though, he will fly me away from the food-and-beverage industry in his Beautiful Bus Tub of Love.
Thursday, December 11, 2003
Jiffy Pop Goes the World
Me (pulling my car up to the Jiffy Lube): Hi! I just need an oil change today.
Mechanic (nodding): Does Jan still work there?
Me (looking around to see if he's talking to me): What?
Mechanic (pointing to my work t-shirt): Does Jan still work there?
Me (smiling): Of course. She's been there for years.
Mechanic (taking my keys): Does Desiree still work there?
Me: Um... oh, yeah. She does.
Mechanic (filling out the form): Does Daniel still work there?
Me (shrugging): Which Daniel?
Mechanic (pausing to look at me): Daniel.
Me: Which Daniel?
Mechanic (looking at me like I'm stupid): DANIEL Daniel.
Me (giving up because I want my car in a hurry): Oh. THAT Daniel. No.
Mechanic: He doesn't?
Me: No.
Mechanic: You sure?
Me (Good lord. No, I'm not sure): Pretty sure...
Mechanic: How sure?
Me (0% sure): 87% sure?
Mechanic (stopping to look at my face. He thinks I'm fucking with him. I think it's the other way around): 87 %... That's not very sure.
Me (getting annoyed. Did he quit taking math in the third grade?): It's mostly sure.
Mechanic (shaking his head): It's pretty sure.
There is a moment of silence. I can't figure out: 1) how this conversation got started; 2) why it continues; 3) how to get out of it.
Me (I also want my car in one piece): Well, sorry I can't more certain. I haven't seen him around for awhile though.
Mechanic (suspiciously): Well, maybe you're just working different times.
Me (Geez, I didn't realize you were dating): Maybe so. How long have you known Daniel?
Mechanic (shrugging and giving the keys to another mechanic): I don't know him. Just curious.
???!!!
Mechanic (nodding): Does Jan still work there?
Me (looking around to see if he's talking to me): What?
Mechanic (pointing to my work t-shirt): Does Jan still work there?
Me (smiling): Of course. She's been there for years.
Mechanic (taking my keys): Does Desiree still work there?
Me: Um... oh, yeah. She does.
Mechanic (filling out the form): Does Daniel still work there?
Me (shrugging): Which Daniel?
Mechanic (pausing to look at me): Daniel.
Me: Which Daniel?
Mechanic (looking at me like I'm stupid): DANIEL Daniel.
Me (giving up because I want my car in a hurry): Oh. THAT Daniel. No.
Mechanic: He doesn't?
Me: No.
Mechanic: You sure?
Me (Good lord. No, I'm not sure): Pretty sure...
Mechanic: How sure?
Me (0% sure): 87% sure?
Mechanic (stopping to look at my face. He thinks I'm fucking with him. I think it's the other way around): 87 %... That's not very sure.
Me (getting annoyed. Did he quit taking math in the third grade?): It's mostly sure.
Mechanic (shaking his head): It's pretty sure.
There is a moment of silence. I can't figure out: 1) how this conversation got started; 2) why it continues; 3) how to get out of it.
Me (I also want my car in one piece): Well, sorry I can't more certain. I haven't seen him around for awhile though.
Mechanic (suspiciously): Well, maybe you're just working different times.
Me (Geez, I didn't realize you were dating): Maybe so. How long have you known Daniel?
Mechanic (shrugging and giving the keys to another mechanic): I don't know him. Just curious.
???!!!
Thursday, December 04, 2003
I'm a Loser, Baby...
Three ladies sat down at a table today. They were dressed in matching red blazers. I took them for real estate agents.
Lady 1: You know, you just have the nicest disposition; has anyone ever told you that?
Ladies 2 and 3 nod and affirm their agreement: "You do! You really do!"
Me (blushing): Thank you. I got that last night, actually, and it's always nice to hear.
Lady 1: A lot of people you have to get to know to see how they are, but you just sparkle!
Ladies 2 and 3 nod and affirm their agreement: "You do! You really do!"
Me (reddening further): Thank you. That's very nice of you to say.
Lady 1: You know, we all sell Mary Kay...
I just blank out, a smile plastered on my face. She keeps babbling about the wonders of Mary Kay, her automotons nodding and exclaiming affirmations at appropriate intervals. I wonder if they actually intend to order any food today, or just smear my body with Mary Kay's lacquer-like foundation and leave me to die a horrible death like that woman in "Goldfinger."
...Lady 1 (wrapping up her sales speech): Have you ever considered a career with Mary Kay?
Me (straining to appear interested and, well, awake): Why, no, actually. While I've always admired Mary Kay's products, I'm very happy with my career choice.
Lady 1 (looking confused, but trying to be polite): You're happy waiting tables?
Sigh. Why is it that people can't see past the uniform? I don't assume all Mary Kay reps have chosen to sell Mary Kay as a career, and that they don't have lives outside of their... okay, well, yes I do.
Me: No. I wait tables on the side. I'm a public relations representative by trade and I just graduated from college.
Ladies nod politely and smile at each other like they know something I don't. I hate them.
Lady 3 (speaking for the first time): My daughter just graduated from college and she can't find a job. She's a music major.
Me: You know, she might consider marketing for a smaller record company to see if she likes it, or trying music journalism. They look for a background and a knowledge base in music.
Lady 3 (brightening): Would you be willing to talk to her?
Me (NO!): Sure, if you think she'd like me to.
Lady 3 pulls out what I assume is a business card. As I begin to write my name on the card, I realize it is a card requesting a makeover. Damn. They got me.
Lady 1: You know, you just have the nicest disposition; has anyone ever told you that?
Ladies 2 and 3 nod and affirm their agreement: "You do! You really do!"
Me (blushing): Thank you. I got that last night, actually, and it's always nice to hear.
Lady 1: A lot of people you have to get to know to see how they are, but you just sparkle!
Ladies 2 and 3 nod and affirm their agreement: "You do! You really do!"
Me (reddening further): Thank you. That's very nice of you to say.
Lady 1: You know, we all sell Mary Kay...
I just blank out, a smile plastered on my face. She keeps babbling about the wonders of Mary Kay, her automotons nodding and exclaiming affirmations at appropriate intervals. I wonder if they actually intend to order any food today, or just smear my body with Mary Kay's lacquer-like foundation and leave me to die a horrible death like that woman in "Goldfinger."
...Lady 1 (wrapping up her sales speech): Have you ever considered a career with Mary Kay?
Me (straining to appear interested and, well, awake): Why, no, actually. While I've always admired Mary Kay's products, I'm very happy with my career choice.
Lady 1 (looking confused, but trying to be polite): You're happy waiting tables?
Sigh. Why is it that people can't see past the uniform? I don't assume all Mary Kay reps have chosen to sell Mary Kay as a career, and that they don't have lives outside of their... okay, well, yes I do.
Me: No. I wait tables on the side. I'm a public relations representative by trade and I just graduated from college.
Ladies nod politely and smile at each other like they know something I don't. I hate them.
Lady 3 (speaking for the first time): My daughter just graduated from college and she can't find a job. She's a music major.
Me: You know, she might consider marketing for a smaller record company to see if she likes it, or trying music journalism. They look for a background and a knowledge base in music.
Lady 3 (brightening): Would you be willing to talk to her?
Me (NO!): Sure, if you think she'd like me to.
Lady 3 pulls out what I assume is a business card. As I begin to write my name on the card, I realize it is a card requesting a makeover. Damn. They got me.
