I write because I care

I just can't have this happen to me anymore.

I feel as if this may continue to happen to me due to the simple fact that there is no literature from which to reference the rule. Hence this post.

Rule:

When sitting in a desk in a class room in which your and your neighbors armrests coincide, choose the one on the right. "But why? I want to rest both of my arms in a leisurely fashion on both arm rests!" one might say. And one might be a selfish cunt. The right arm rest is quite central to a student when taking notes which I'm sure we can all agree is an essential activity in any college course.

I've tried to politely nudge the offending persons elbow off making it seem as if I am so enthralled in my note taking that I don't even notice them. I've tried giving them death glances out of the corner of my eye. I've even tried passive aggressively whispering to the person on the other side of me how I'm about to cut a bitch for taking up my arm rest. So you see, this really is a last resort. But a necessary one.

So, together, lets put this rule into action and watch peace spread throughout the land.

Oh, you don't have a boyfriend? Why not?

Is this question ever appropriate? I would think not but I've been asked this question so many times (and not just by the Asian doing my nails) that I'm beginning to think it might not be so uncouth after all.

I am wondering, however, what the appropriate response is."Uhh... I'm unattractive to the opposite sex?" "Uhh... My hair curls weird when it's humid?" "Uhh... it could actually be due to a number of unappealing aspects of my personality, the exact one of which I am not sure of at this time?"

I usually just go with the classic "I don't know"

Seriously though, what if its something people don't really want to get into? Like, boyfriends killed my family? Then how would the other person feel for asking that question? Not good, I'd imagine. And then they may feel obligated to offer some kind of comforting words, perhaps a shoulder may even be involved. Is this really what they were expecting when they asked why it is that no one wants to share their heart with you?

I think it is clear to see that this question should just be avoided altogether for the well being of both parties involved. Or maybe I'm just really bitter.

Why does it always feel like I'm caught in the undertow?

I don't think that I will ever not enjoy just driving around. It's such a simple and wonderful pleasure- especially when you have the right soundtrack and good company. I feel like there is nothing you can't say when you're on the road with someone, either. You can really say anything you're thinking or feeling and it will be okay because it will be left in that spot on the road and you'll be done with it, no dwelling necessary. It's the best way to get to know someone. Or yourself. I think Conor Oberst (I know, I know) says it best- "There's nothing that the road cannot heal." He may be talking about running away but I think just being on the road and in a new setting every minute can be pretty cathartic as well. I guess its something about the lack of permanence that the new settings bring.

I don't know if any of this makes any sense, but I guess thats the risk you take when putting your thoughts into words.

Earl Grey

Sometimes I wonder where people are now. Like random kids from middle school, the ones I barely spoke to. I bet they're all doing something interesting in their own right. I wonder if any of them think about me or wonder what I'm doing.

Like this guy, Achillus or something. Actually I think it had a q in it. I have no idea what it is now. But, anyway, the point is he used to chase me around the playground-- or rather the cement area with benches and portables-- and he would also always write me these notes. Notes were so big in middle school. There were even intricate folding techniques that had to be mastered to compose a truly good note. Maybe he still writes notes. Maybe he still chases girls.

I hope not though because at this age that last one might just be considered assault.

I'm Whitening My Teeth As I Type This

So, I've started a blog, I suppose. This should be interesting. I had a Xanga when those were cool but then everyone moved on to cooler things like writing in journals or actually talking to people in person and it just became embarrassing to be the only one left with a Xanga. So now I have this. Definitely not a Xanga.

There was this woman at work today- the usual type of lunch customer: fat, bitter, unhappy, and trying to drown her sorrows in pasta. Or, in this case, a meatball sub. So, I was waiting on her and off the bat I could tell that this woman was just a miserable person. She asked me if she could substitute a bowl of soup for a cup of soup in one of the specials that we have. I politely informed her that it would be possible, however, there would be a small fee. Her reaction to this was complete outrage. How inconceivable that a larger portion of food would require a larger portion of dollars in exchange! And I, the waiter, DO make the prices, so it was only natural for her to express her outrage to me in the rudest fashion possible. She turned from me to her friend and said "What? That's ridiculous. That is just stupid. No. No way, that is so stupid." Her friend then looked up at me a bit apologetic and said "maybe she misunderstood the question..." but the dominant friend (not only in personality, but also in size) then said "no, never mind, I don't want to do it anyway."

Well that settles that then.


The Soup Situation now behind us, the two women order their entrees. I get as far away from that table as fast as I can and enter their order into the micro. Thank God I have some time away from them. I could tell that my tip had already been decided by this woman, and it was not going to be a good one. I decide that the best way to handle these overfed women is to just be as nice as possible. And that's exactly what I do. I refill their drinks, I box up their food, I answer their questions - everything. But that is nowhere near good enough for them. I had already offended them beyond belief by telling them that in exchange for food they would have to give money. Really, I should be more understanding. This is all a very new policy for all restaurants and some people may not be fully accustomed to it yet.

So the end of the meal comes after several less than favorable interactions with the women. Every time I am near them they go out of their way to make sure I know how incompetent and bad at my job I am. I finally bring the women their checks along with their deserts- a lemon cake. I have four tables at this point (a full section in the restaurant I work in) and get a bit busy. Because of this, the women's checks sit on the table for a brief period of time. I do this thing when I get busy of making a list in my head of all the things I need to do and in what order (i.e. greet, drinks, bread, order, input into the computer, refills, etc.) and believe me, picking up their checks was on my list. The women weren't even done with their desert yet when I come back to pick up the checks. I am standing right behind them with my arm outstretched to pick them up when the larger one takes the opportunity to grab my manager who is walking by and hand him the checks instead of letting me pick them up. She then informs him that they have been waiting five whole minutes for me to come pick them up and give them change. Give me a break lady. First of all, it probably wasn't five minutes at all and they weren't even done with their deserts. Second of all- that's not my only table, sorry about it but that's just how a restaurant operates. Third of all- I could give two fucks about them at this point in the meal after the way they have treated me when I, as a favor to them, have done everything in my power not to punch them both in their faces.

Luckily, restaurant managers will usually understand when a guest is being a bit ridiculous and my manager knows I'm not a negligent waiter so as soon as we are out of ear shot he says "You can go ahead and tell her that we're all really sorry that we don't carry Whoppers here at this establishment. Perhaps she may feel more comfortable down the street at a McDonalds." Sometimes managers could actually be cool, too.

I return the change to the tables wanting to also slap them both across the face for being such insufferable cunts. I am glad to finally get them out of the restaurant. It will take a while, however, to get them out of my mind. For a waiter, it's not only an inconvenience to deal with these types of people but it also hurts when someone treats me that way. I think that some people have a problem wrapping their heads around the facts that their waiters are also people too and should be treated as such.

Moral of the story: Don't be a cunt to your waiter.