People Are Idiots

I know I say this a lot, but I'm continually shocked by what people do and say in a restaurant. Today, was definitely one of those days when I thought to myself, "I don't get paid enough for this crap."

First customer:
We'll call him George. George comes in a lot and likes to talk. He'll see you have ten tables holding up empty glasses of ice tea and continue to talk to you about the cost of sheep in Asia - and I should mention, while you neglect your other tables to hear these rants of a lonely man, he doesn't tip that well. So, basically, I am nice to George because I realize he's lonely, but I sort of dread when he's around. Anyway, today I was a little slow so I made the deadly mistake of saying, "George how are you today?" For the next five minutes he proceeded to tell me about the infection in his foot. He used words like pus, dead skin and potential for more infection. I just stood there trying to think about anything but the two layers of dead skin his doctor removed yesterday and what it looked like falling to the floor. Finally, I cut him off and said, "Well, George you want to order some food? and he said, "Well, I'll have some pancakes but I have to keep this foot elevated,"...and then I did the unthinkable - I looked. I looked at the infected foot. Why was it out for everyone to see? Well, some time during me trying to zone out of this nightmare, George had taken off his sock to give me a first hand look at his foot. I know what you are thinking - who does that? People in a restaurant.

2nd set of customers:
These two idiots sat down, made some stupid reply to my "Can I get you guys something to drink?" with "Only if you have an IV of coffee on you," and then after I didn't laugh, they ordered 1 (remember this number) 1 muffin. Now, after getting their complicated order, I ran to the market area to get other tables' muffins and coffee. I had not rung in the muffin yet, but decided to pick if up for the idiots and then put it in later. So, now the idiots have 1 muffin - which they start to eat. After ten minutes, I ring in the muffin they are eating, but unknowingly someone grabs them a muffin, thinking I just rang it in, and brought it to their table. Now, what would you do in this situation? Would you say, "Um, sorry we already have our muffin and didn't order another one," or would you say nothing, take the muffin, eat it, and when your server comes over to ask you why you ate the other muffin, do you feign surprise that another muffin appeared AND inform your server you won't be paying for it? Guess which option these idiots chose? Because all restaurants have the policy of "Buy 1 get 1 completely free immediately after."

I hate people sometimes.

The Real Life of An Attorney

For those of you who thought being an attorney was all about reading documents and writing contracts...you also need to be up to date on Real Housewives of New Jersey. (It's a section on the BAR - or so he said.)

In Need of Adult Companionship

I've realized, after many nights of being left alone by my over worked husband, that I don't function very well without some type of adult companionship. For example, since being home at 4pm I've had two bowls of cereal - one counted as a quasi lunch/"energy" for some type of exercise to be completed before dinner, and the other bowl was initially classified as a snack, but to be honest it really should fall under the category of "I'm lonely and these honey nut cheerios will make it all better." (I should also say that between the cereal I had dinner. So, the 2nd bowl wasn't really a snack, but more of an unnecessary treat to myself for finishing my dinner.)

Now, overeating is not only my only issue with being alone. In addition to taking down boxes of cereal, I also find myself in periodic time warps of the internet. It seems like every time I go to check the weather to see if I need to put on a long sleeve for my run, I end up reading ridiculous articles about Beyonce and Jennifer Aniston for 45 minutes. 45 minutes and I'm still not even sure if Jennifer has found the one and if she is indeed pregnant.

Once I shake myself from the food and the internet, I coax myself into some type of exercise, which is really a means to making more room for cereal, and then, because, again, I'm not a highly functioning alone person, I'll take a shower with my the bathroom door open and my apartment door unlocked. How many times have I stopped my shower in panic because I thought I heard something or someone? Too many to count. Has this made me lock my apartment door? Not yet.

And lastly, as if the eating disorder, internet obsession and streak of exhibitionism wasn't bad enough, I'll admit, and only because we are good friends, there may or may not be some dancing in front of the many mirrors in my apartment. What? I'm on a freaking sugar high...you try sitting still after two rather large bowls of cereal.

Hey, attorney husband...come home to your wife.

Halloween Is A ONE Day Holiday

Last night I was in West Hollywood and saw numerous people dressed up in costumes. (I know, it's West Hollywood, and these people might have been just going to the store or renting a movie, but it brings up a particular point I would like to make.)

First of all, I would like to state that I'm all for costumes on Halloween. Let me repeat, I'm in favor of costumes ON Halloween. However, for those of you who think October is like December and feel like it's alright to dress up for 30 days until the big event, let me just say it's not. Halloween is one day, and therefore, you are only supposed to dress up for ONE day. I mean if we allow this blatant stupidity what's next? All April we hide eggs, carry baskets of candy and hop around like stupid bunnies until Easter? Or do we parade around with handfuls of flags until, and this of course is one of my favorite holidays, Flag Day decides to finally come? Or do you want loads of college students drunk the entire month of February until all their Irish blood manifests on St. Patrick's Day? I didn't think so.

So, to you premature celebrators out there, who think it's okay a week BEFORE Halloween to dress up as bizarre zombies and skeletons, just hold off one more week. What are you five?

Honesty Will Cost Ya

Since working at a restaurant for almost 2 1/2 years I've learned that my job isn't just about friendly service and hospitality, but more about an astute ability to lie. For example here's some of my favorites:

Food comes out wrong
Option 1: Play up the fact that our kitchen is mostly Hispanic, and then exaggerate the obvious language barrier with some type of mild racial slur.
Option 2: Claim another server took your food to another table. Make a lighthearted joke like this one, "I'll go check on table 10 and see if they are enjoying your breakfast."

Food is taking too long (because you forgot to put the order into the computer)
Option 1: Claim that your systems just went down for a few minutes and now the kitchen is scrambling to catch up on all the back orders.
Option 2: Claim their food came up, but you inspected it, found it to be cold and demanded an immediate "refire." I usually deliver this with a disappointed face.

Questions about "free range" and organic food
Option 1: Ask them this, "Were you hoping to find free range chicken?" Person answers, "No, I hate free range chicken." So you say, "Well, then good because you are in luck. Our food is NOT, I repeat NOT free range." If they reply, "Why yes, I only eat free range." Then you say, "Well, then good because you are in luck. Our food is free range. I repeat is free range."
Option 2: Always say yes to organic. If some idiot is asking, then they are looking for a yes. (If you say no, they might ask you why you don't recycle. It's just not worth it.)

Do you like _____?
Option 1: Decide what this person is looking for. For example, if this person asked if you can cook the tuna burger well done and wants to know if you have onion rings, tell them you do not like the brussel sprout salad. If they are wearing skinny jeans and something totally vintage tell them you love the brussel sprout salad...because it's totally organic.
Option 2: Come on you smart people out there...what do I like? Um, the filet tacos are amazing because they are...what the most expensive thing on the menu? What?

So, remember us servers might look nice, but we are not to be trusted.

I'm A Closet Redneck

Alright I'll come clean, I sort of love country music. There's just something about it that makes me feel all sorts of emotions. Honestly, it makes me want to buy a pick-up truck, move down south, enlist in the army, find a good cowboy and lay in the grass while the sun sets. It's fantastic. And I'll even admit I've seen more country concerts than "normal" shows. Yeah, it's all coming out tonight. I've even seen Tim McGraw three times. Who sees Tim McGraw three times and likes it? This gun carrying redneck wannabe - that's who.

However, as much as my love runs deep for country music I also have my limits when it comes to this sometimes ridiculous genre. Take for example this current hit "My Girlfriend Likes To Fish" by Craig Cambell, I heard on the radio the other day:

If you don't want to watch the video you can just read these lyrics:

The first time we did it I was scared to death
She snuck out in that cotton dress
Jumped on in and we drove to the lake
Put her hand on my knee and said I can’t wait
I had everything we needed in the bed of my truck
Turns out my baby loves to…

Fish, she wants to do it all the time
Early in the morning, in the middle of the night
She’s hooked and now she can’t get enough
Man, that girl sure loves to fish

After that, that’s all she wanted to do
But that was okay ’cause I did too
She always wants to go down by the dam
And I love how she looks with that rod in her hand
If they ain’t bitin’ she don’t give up
Turns out my baby loves to…

Fish, she wants to do it all the time
Early in the morning, in the middle of the night
She’s hooked and now she can’t get enough
Man, that girl sure loves to fish

A song about fishing? A song about your girlfriend liking to fish? Are we serious? How can I defend this song to my husband and friends when they make fun of me for my closet love of country music? What's next - a song about how your girlfriend is actually your cousin and you both love making moonshine while watching NASCAR? Work with me country music.

Giving Things Away

So, today I had to serve this rather annoying chick on the patio. How annoying? Well, she was one of those people, that when I picked up her empty plates and asked, not really intending a real answer, "How was everything?" she replied, "Well, I loved the bacon, but I didn't totally enjoy the eggs, and the rice and beans didn't seem fully cooked." Thanks food critic because I really wanted a rundown of your breakfast.

Anyway, after a lengthy complaint about the lack of internet, she paid her bill and I went inside to clean some tables. As I looked out the window, I saw her take our water bottle, which is sort of this cool slender glass bottle, and place it in her bag and prepare to leave. Immediately, I walked outside and stopped her from leaving. As I approached her, I asked, "Did you take our water bottle?" (This time intending a real answer.) And she replied, "Um, yeah isn't that okay?" (Yeah, because all restaurants allow you to take home plates, forks and glasses after your meal.) And I said, "Not really," and she said, while handing me the bottle, "Oh, because last time I was here they just gave me the bottle." To which I responded with, "That's just weird," but what I really meant was: Gave you the bottle? Really? Do you also go to Macy's and they just "give you" clothes? Or do you find yourself at Target trying to stop all the employees from "giving you" merchandise?

Honestly, people are so weird. I hope she comes back in so I can take her laptop. I mean, I hope she comes back in so she can "give" me her laptop.

D-List Celebrities

Typically, I play it pretty cool when celebrities come into the restaurant, but today I just couldn't help myself. When I was five years old I used to come home from kindergarten, saddle up to a warm bowl of mac n' cheese and, along with my sister and mom, watch this beautiful man (see picture below) play Brad on Young and the Restless. (Yes, my mom is and was a parenting genius.) So, you can imagine my surprise and excitement when I went out to the patio and found my long lost gardener/president of Jabot Cosmetics (sure, he slept his way to the top, but look at him...) waiting for me to take his order.
After a few seconds of restaurant and menu talk, I decided to strike up a conversation. However, things got a little weird.

Kate: "So, you probably don't want to hear this, but I sort of grew up watching you."

Brad/Don: "Why do you think that would bother me? Because of my diminishing age?"

Kate: (Slight swoon) "Oh, no. It's just that I was so excited when I saw you before that I told my mom and she became really excited to hear I had seen you..."

Brad/Don: (Cuts me off mid-sentence) "Do you want to take a picture?"

Kate: "Um. No, I mean, sure. Well, I don't have a phone on me."

Brad/Don: "Well find one."

Kate: "No it's cool."

Brad/Don: "Well let's take a picture if you find a phone."

Kate: (Sort of getting creeped out.)

Twenty minutes goes by, Brad/Don has finished his breakfast, Kate is clearing table.

Brad/Don: "Did you find a phone?"

Kate: "Um, yeah, let me go get it."

Kate goes into restaurant, finds her manager and asks to borrow his phone so she can take a picture with some soap star. Manager confused, but gives her his phone.

The following picture is taken:
Lesson learned from this experience: Continue to play it cool with celebrities...especially with the D-List celebrities.

NOT GUILTY

You know what all these people have in common?

They were all found "not guilty."

Yep, no biking ticket for me. Mess with the bull...and you get my lawyer husband.

Look at My College Degree At Work

For the past couple of days fellow alumni of mine from Duke have been coming to the restaurant to dine. I'll admit, these aren't my favorite encounters. There's just something slightly demoralizing about reconnecting with one of your old classmates as you wear an apron and ask if they want coleslaw or fries with their cheeseburger. However, the thing I hate the most is the unspoken conclusions I imagine my friends are coming to as they see me bus tables and run food. Like: "Oh Kate, didn't seem like the type to get knocked up after school, give the baby up for adoption, fall into heroine and now, 10 years later, getting her life back together as a lowly waitress." Or "Hmmm...waitress? Yeah, I could see that. She always seemed like the lowest paying job type of person." Honestly, I can see it in their faces.

So, what do I do? Well, after loathing our chance meeting, I find myself saying absolutely ridiculous things. Like today, after encountering a guy, who's roommate I dated for a semester, I said, and mind you this was completely out of context, "Oh, and just so you know this is a total part time gig. My husband has a really high paying job as an attorney." Really - did that just come out? Or a few weeks ago, a past basketball player at Duke, who never actually graduated or attended a single class and who makes more money than I'll see in my lifetime, came in, and I said, "I just picked up this shift to help out my friend. I actually work from home." Work from home?! Doing what - professional checker of Facebook? I'm a total fraud!

Oh well, at least I get the sympathy tip.

One Swing At the Clown

After four straight days of golf I find myself with one complaint: This is not a sport that allows or accepts natural reactions. For example, throughout my athletic career I was always allowed to express my frustration and anger while playing the sport. If I was playing lacrosse it was completely acceptable for me to run down my opponent, wildly check at their body and cause mild bodily harm. If I was playing basketball no one cared if I flagrantly fouled a chick as she drove the ball down the paint. And if I was playing tennis no one really minded if I launched a ball over the fence.

Now with golf - it's a completely different story. Hit a bad drive and all you've got is a head down in shame, a rough grabbing of your tee and crestfallen walk back to the cart. Does this help you feel better about slicing your ball into the water? Absolutely not. Try chunking a ball 100 yards away from the green. All I find I can do is yell incoherent noises at the ground while I angrily stamp my chunk of grass back into the fairway. Again, this does nothing to relieve my frustration.

So, here's what I suggest. As soon as you hit a bad drive you are given one swing at a clown, who stands there watching and waiting for you to release your pent up anger about your crappy shot. Why a clown? Because everyone out on the golf course seems to be having a great time, and as you watch your ball disappear into a ravine, the only thing that's going to make it better is if one other person isn't smiling. My second suggestion is to allow more throwing of clubs. I really think this could go a long way. (pun intended) Honestly, let's say in the game of golf you get one traditional score and one score based on how far you are able to launch your club down the fairway, or how close you can fling your putter to the cart. Can you imagine how fun this would be? It would be like golf meets javelin throwing.

And lastly, may I suggest a little less Masters and little more Happy Gilmore. Honestly, the lack of celebration in golf is killing me. When I scored a goal in lacrosse we used jump up and down screaming in a pack. Now when I hit a long put in golf I just nonchalantly walk over to the cup and retrieve my ball. No one likes this...especially me. Instead, I wish it was acceptable to ride your putter like a horse around the green, shouting, "Whoop, there it is!" as you swing your visor around like a cowboy hat. Or if you hit a great drive I wish it was totally cool to slide into the grass as your golfing buddy slid next to you and raised arms in victory. Honestly, I need something because this game is way too buttoned up for me.

Accidents and Idiots

A few hours ago the husband and I returned from a golf trip to St. George, Utah. As we were approaching the 10 from I-15, we were stopped by an accident. Being that we live in an area with a very high concentration of traffic, accidents on the highway are, unfortunately, a frequent occurrence. However frequent these accidents are, I will never understand three things: 1. Why idiots, who drive these incredibly busy highways every day, still continue to be complete morons and cause these accidents? Two, why, why, why can't someone invent a machine that pulls up all the cars involved in the accident and MOVE THEM to the side of the road? Instead, we get to sit in three hours of traffic while Hector from West Covina argues with Malibu Mom about his broken bumper in the middle lane.

And lastly, why must you morons, who were not involved in the accident, drive five miles an hour as you pass by the scene of carnage? Are you hoping to see a dead body? Are you thinking in that ten second drive by you will be able to assess the situation and testify later, when of course you are called for your testimony, as to who was at fault and who was not? Or are you trying to find the idiot, who caused the accident, so you can add one more look of disapproval to their already stellar day? (Because that's what I'm trying to do.)

Honestly, all of you who faithfully read this blog, promise me, if you come across an accident, that is being fully taken care of, press on your accelerator and fight the urge to look. You'll be a better person for it...unless you find the idiot who was texting and caused the whole thing. Then find him, stare him down and shake your head in disappointment.

And the Bed Making War Begins

Last night I complained to the husband about his lack of bed making skills. I informed him, that as the last person to get up, it was his responsibility to make the bed. I came home today from work and found the following...
On the phone he informed me that he made his part and that I'm the one lacking in my own bed making skills. Damn lawyers and their technicalities.

My Angry Egg

For the past couple of weeks I've been watching the U.S. Open which has caused me to reflect on my own short tennis career when I was a young girl. Many of you might not know this, but at 12 years old I was ranked #1 in Delaware for girls 12 and under AND #1 for girls 14 and under. Now, before you ask why I'm not currently playing on the tour, let me explain a few things. One, there were three of us under 12, who played tournaments, and there were like two other kids under 14. So, if you won a tournament or happened to beat 2 of the random kids under 14, you got to be the reigning champ of Delaware. Yeah, I said Delaware. So, that's what I did.

Second of all, I really should have been tested for some type of growth hormone or steroid use. You see, at 12 years old I was basically a grown woman. Honestly, I think since that age I've gained about ten pounds and grew about 2 inches. So, again the vast competitors of Delaware had no chance against my freak of nature strength and size. (As did the poor boys I attempted to have crushes on in middle school. To this day, I think most of them held my hand due to sheer fear.)

Anyway, outside of this horrible attempt at a humble brag, my experience with tennis growing up was pretty funny. There was one chick, who looked like an angry egg, I always had to play in the finals of every freaking tournament. Honestly, in my memory she's just this round and unemotional blob. She would never say anything except grunt an occasional "out" when she needed a point, and when I fought her to prove it, she would attempt to shrug, but being that she was a rounded egg, shrugging was difficult, so after a few minutes of me ranting she somehow would just move on to the next point without really resolving anything. Eventually, I stop fighting her bad calls. I mean, watching that attempt to show emotion through her shoulders was just too much for me at that age.

The other ridiculous part of this chick was the fact that her entire family used to come out and see her play. I remember they would bring coolers and umbrellas and fill up an entire bleacher. On the other hand, I never let my family come see me play. I guess I sort of knew in my heart that my "matches" were really just glorified ping pong games, and I loved my parents too much to submit them to endless hours of boring rallies. Man, I hated that family of angry eggs. I remember one time after hitting a pretty decent shot, I said out loud, "You got this Kate," to which they replied, "No you don't Kate." Who uses a 12 year old's name to talk trash at a junior tennis tournament? I'll tell you who - the angry eggs.

Well, I wish I could tell you that after my #1 reign I continued with tennis, but unfortunately, at 13, scarred from Monica Seles's stabbing, I decided to give up tennis and start playing team sports. My only regret is that I wasn't able to ever see the angry egg crack and show some emotion. I sometimes think of her and wonder what she is doing. I wonder if she drives around my neighborhood and writes tickets all day. They seem to have no emotion. Or I wonder if she euthanizes animals because that would definitely require no feelings. Or maybe she works in security at LAX and is the one that sits poker face in front of the x-ray machine as your bags go by. Again, another job that her lack of emotions would be great for.

Anyway, if you are out there, angry egg, give me a grunt and let's play another never ending game...

It Was The Car's Fault

The other day I walked out and found that someone had deliberately thrown a milkshake onto my car. As I stood there studying the ice cream, that was now crusted over my windshield wipers and headlights, I wondered what had possessed someone to commit such vandalism. Was it just a case of jealousy of my 2003 Honda Accord, that sports scratches from multiple keys along the sides of the car, a busted front bumper and the classic splattering of bird feces on the roof? Was my car just in the wrong place when someone went from enjoying a nice milkshake to learning their boyfriend has been cheating on them with their best friend and everyone knew it but them, and they just found out through a mistaken text that was sent from her boyfriend? Or did my last European customers, who pretended not to speak English, really understood me when I said, "I wish all of you a safe a happy trip home as your plane crashes into the Atlantic?" after I found out they weren't going to tip me? So many possibilities...who can know?

So, 2003 Honda Accord owners beware. You aren't just driving a fuel efficient car, you are driving a dangerous and anger provoking machine.

The Grocery Store: A Place of Food, Idiocy and Cat Camping

Waiting in line at the grocery store is an interesting experience. First, and I don't know about your local grocery store, but mine is staffed by three people and there is always twenty people at each line. So, already it's an awesome experience.

Secondly, I don't think people fully understand the "express lane." I'm not even sure they can count or understand the word express. I swear, every time I'm just buying milk some genius in front of me has 26 items and has decided to pay with a check. All I can do is give them a cold stare as they look at me, as they attempt to place their over the limit items on the smaller conveyer belt, and say with their eyes, "Oh, I know what you are thinking, but these twenty tomatoes actually count as 1 item, so I'm technically okay." Really? Because when we get out to the parking lot, I'm going to take my 1 car and quickly, no in an express manner, into your 2 legs.

Lastly, what is the deal with what people buy at the grocery store. Today a guy in front of me bought kitty litter, a pineapple, soda, waffles and beef jerky. Is this guy taking a cat camping? Or is he in the middle of a random quickfire challenge on Top Chef? Too hard to tell.

Flashbacks

My junior year in college I lived in a house with eleven of my teammates. Yep, you read that right - 11. This house exuded craziness. How crazy? Well, try these on:

1. After a week straight of partying, to kick off the new year, of course, a few cops stopped by to regulate the madness. After a short conversation, one of the cops got the number of my roommate (who he started dating) and the other cop started to party with everyone. From that point on we had constant back up and no reports of disturbances were ever responded to.

2. Another roommate of mine decided each night she was drunk she would steal something. Consequently, by Christmas break we had a deck full of bar stools, rocking chairs from our neighbors, signs and plants.

3. At least once a week a night of fun turned into a night of "gooning out." For those of you not blessed with the opportunity to go to school with meat heads, "gooning out" entails getting blitzed and then destroying everything in sight. Therefore, each week we had either a bench (that had been stolen the week before) thrown through our door, a couch thrown out onto the road or a window just bashed in. There's nothing more fun that hearing the sound of broken glass and then the yell from a barbarian. Man, I miss college.

Okay, enough down memory lane. The reason I bring up these memories is because I thought, at 32, living in an apartment with my husband would be much simpler than it was in college, but I was wrong. For the past week I feel like I've been trapped in a bad time warp.

For example, on Monday some idiot, at 2 in the morning, started throwing glass bottles onto the road outside my apartment. Now as if this wasn't bad enough, I then got to hear cars go over the glass, stop, yell at the guy to stop, him yell back and then more glass thrown. (Now that I think about it, I wonder if I went to college with this guy. It's just so hard to cut the gooning habit.)

On Tuesday, and I'm not kidding, some lady was heard screaming, "Help, Help!" in an alley just outside my apartment. We then all got to sit in our beds and listen to her run, scream some more for help and then go silent. To be honest, after being awoken the second night in a row, I don't know what bothered me more, her being potentially killed outside my apartment, or the fact that some neighbor across the street kept yelling, "Are you there? I called the cops. Are you there? Hello." Lady, no one answered. Not our chair, not our problem.

And lastly, after being awoken up by some muscle car that just couldn't turn over (thank heavens the person tried ten times) I heard the familiar laughter and stumbling of a drunk chick outside my apartment. I listened to them for awhile and prayed they would move on, but it continued. Finally, I got out of bed and looked through the window just in time to see one of them attempting to go number uno in our bushes. That was it. Immediately, I went into college Kate mode (this means I either call the cops on my own house, or head out to the situation to yell at anyone I can find) - I chose the latter. So, there I was, old Duke t-shirt, pajama pants and hair everywhere, ready to fight, but as I rounded the corner to our lobby I found three drunk chicks, one clueless guy and a naked girl. Yeah, a naked girl. All of them looked at me, and immediately said, "Oh sorry, it's a batchelorette party and she, pointing to the naked one, had to go swimming in the ocean." I was completely dumbfounded. So, all I said was, "Oh, congrats. Well, night." Night? Congrats? Have I really been out of college that long that I couldn't come up with at least a decent lecture or raised voice? How about a disapproving face? Nothing. All those years of training and now look at me. Pathetic.

*The picture is what I should have done.

Be Honest

(The coordinated ones. I usually surround myself with them. It's part of my contract.)

A few weeks ago I was Utah running a lacrosse camp. After almost 16 years of running sport camps I find that I have mixed emotions about them. One, I think it's great that kids go to camp. I mean, if kids don't go, I don't get paid...I mean, kids don't learn and get better. And yet, two, I just wish there was a screening process prior to sport camps. You know a little agility course they have to complete in a certain amount of time. Or they have to send in a tape of them running and then we can determine if there is any athletic ability at all. You know, something. Because honestly, this floodgate of minivans packed with overpaid sticks, cleats, clothes and uncoordinated children has got to be curbed.

For example, after the first day of lacrosse camp I surveyed my motley crew of campers and this is what I found:

• 3 Girls wearing deeply chaffing jean shorts with soccer cleats and Justin Bieber T-Shirts. 3. Yes, 3 different sets of parents allowed this attire for camp. Not acceptable.
• 5 Girls never put their hair up in a ponytail, but awkwardly ran around the field with unkempt manes. I'm sorry, you are not an athlete if you think running around like Pocahontas is a good idea.
• 2 Girls were forced to sit out for the afternoon because they had hurt themselves during lunch while they were playing "catch." (They were throwing to each other. That means one got hit in the face, cried about it and then hit her friend in the face.) Not acceptable.

And finally...

• 1 girl was riding her lacrosse stick around the field like a broomstick. (Hey Hermione, Gryffindor called and wanted to know when you were headed back to Hogsworth.) (So, outed myself just then.)

Anyway, as I always say after running lacrosse camps: Parents, please, please take a good look at that kid of yours. Be honest. Be brutally honest. Are they coordinated? Are they wearing jean shorts? Should they be at a camp involving balls? Answer these and save us all some time.

I Don't Get Paid Enough

Do people even check this anymore?

Well, after two years plus of serving at a restaurant I thought I had seen it all...and then Thursday morning took place. If you are eating please stop. If you have a delicate stomach stop reading. Okay let's continue.

At 8:30 in the morning, there were two individuals sitting on the patio of our restaurant. After refilling my customer's coffee I turned the corner of the patio to check on my co-worker's customer. As I approached her table I noticed she had placed her credit card in the server book to be run. Now, let me state that this woman was on the phone and had her back to me. As I approached her table I began to ask, "Would you like me to run this card for you?" At the exact moment I was reaching for the book, this lady lifted up her derriere and proceeded to loudly fart on me. Now, words cannot adequately express the horror I felt as our eyes locked while she released her morning gas all over me. (It was like looking into the face of the Devil. You want to run, but your body just won't work.)

After a few awkward seconds, I regained the control of my body and ran for the door of the restaurant. Once inside, I tried to find acid, lighter fluid, gasoline - anything that I could use to burn my throat and eyes. I could NOT believe some lady, that looked like my dear mother, had lifted up her butt cheek and farted on me! Now, I've cleaned up mashed bananas underneath a table, I've pulled hair out of food and I've reached into the trash of discarded food to save a spoon, but this...this...this was on another level.

So, what have I learned from this experience? 1. Always make myself known in all situations. I might even start screaming, "Hey, coming around the corner. Hold in all anal acoustics* and other bodily disasters until I've passed." 2. Try to block out my co-workers' responses. One said, "I mean, that's okay at home or in your car, but not at a public restaurant." Okay? No, that's not okay. Or this one: "I mean, I do it in here (meaning the restaurant) but it's loud with music." (Mind you, I don't walk behind this person anymore.) and 3. If I hear a funny noise on the phone I'm no longer believing when the other person says, "Oh, that was weird, my phone just made a weird noise." Right. Who farts while on the phone?

Again, so glad my college degree from Duke is going to good use.

* I found that description at: http://www.heptune.com/fartword.html

What? I'm Dehydrated.

I find when I'm really tired towards the end of my shift at work I start making really, I mean really, bad jokes. Here's a few I've made in the past few days. You tell me if I deserved a tip:

Situation 1:
I'm clearing the table of four people. As I get to the Asian man's plate of tacos I say, "Well, I can tell you didn't like this." (This is one of the jokes I say at the end of meals to get a cheap laugh, and what also makes me silently hate myself.) Anyway, the plate was virtually clear except for a few pieces of rice. So, he responded with, "Well, I didn't finish my rice but the rest was very good." And I said, "Oh yeah rice, you have probably never had this food. I'm sure it must be exciting trying it." So folks did the racial slur deserve a tip?

Situation 2:
Guy sits down and seems like he's in a bad mood. I say, "Well, how are you doing today?" He grumbles out, "Well, I just got my prostate checked." And I say, without thinking, "Do you want a second opinion?" Belittling a possible cancer victim? How much on that tip?

Situation 3:
Four old people sit down for lunch. After I shout out my welcome, three of them order alcohol. As the fourth one tells me he doesn't want anything to drink I say, "So are you the driver for these drunks?" Immediately, all the hearing aids go off and the woman, who ordered a beer, says, "You think I look drunk?" (So hard to resist.) And I say, "I saw you walking in and it looked like you were about to fall." Ah yes, insulting the old. Definitely worth the lack of tip.

What can I say, when I'm dehydrated all sensors get turned off.