Since I've moved back to Newton, I've come to terms with the fact that I have no social life. And I won't until I'm finished with school. It's a time thing. Work has become my social life. I adore everyone I work with. There's only a few of us and we get along so well, we've become like a family. Tricia is the best boss ever. She's so understanding when things interfere with our schedules and insists that school comes first. I've worked in the restaurant biz since I was 16, and waiting tables has become so automatic to me: I could do it in my sleep. I may not be the chit-chattiest waitress on the block, but I'm sure as heck efficient.
I love our regulars. They always ask about tests I have coming up in school, questions about the house, and grill me to see if I'm getting enough sleep. Most of them know my entire life story. It's easier for me to talk about all that has happened with people I'm not close with or related to than it is with my actual family and friends. I'm not convinced it's a good thing- there have been way too many times where I've told complete strangers ev.er.y.thing. It's like I get the worst case of word vomit in the history of mankind. In my defense, it always starts out with the other person asking questions! "How many siblings do you have?" I mean I don't know how to answer it. Because...I have TWO...so I usually just say TWO...but if I can tell the person is really interested, I'll say, "I had two brothers but one passed away"...and then that leads to more questions...and then I have to talk all about mom...okay, see? Here I go now! My therapist says she thinks it's just part of my own therapy-- to talk about it with as many people as I need to-- because I don't want to bring it up with the same person over and over again. That all may be true...but I just feel bad. No one wants to hear all about that depressing stuff. Especially when they're just trying to eat their chicken wings.
Anyways.
My favorite cook Johnny. He hates when people call him Johnny. He makes bomb chimichangas.
Steph. Sweetest gal on the planet. I worked with her at Aggie's in high school as well. She's an excellent ear when you need one.
Cody. Our front of house manager. He makes me laugh-hard-but he also knows how to get under my skin. For some reason he takes pleasure in watching me flip and freak out. But he gave me an awesome clicky KU pen the other day, so we're cool as a polar bear's toe nail...for now.
I get cold and apparently that's not okay...sorry Jeremy (scary back of house manager).
I created this swear jar to improve the quality of our work environment. I became inspired to make it after someone swore and looked over at me and said "Sorry, Dani" in a not very sorry tone of voice. I realized maybe I should take initiative and start fining people for their profanities....and as a result, everyone would wind up with squeaky clean mouths. Then, I was struck with an even better idea that the profits could go to my WEDDING DRESS FUND (no I don't have a boyfriend but yes I have a bank account for my wedding dress fund. my grandma and I save our change and dump it off every couple months. don't make fun of me.) John tried to pre-pay with a $100 bill and I begrudgingly had to take it out because you can't form a good language habit that way..needless to say, my swear jar has been completely ignored and sits empty on the beverage counter.
Best tip I've ever got. How did they know I love popcorn?
No comments:
Post a Comment