Watch out... this one spits.

I lasted two days as a waitress.

It was at Las Casas in Temple, Texas (Home of the famed ‘White Wings’!), and it was the summer after my freshman year in college. I had never thought much about waiting tables, but since I had originally planned to spend the summer as the Arts and Crafts counselor at a Boy Scout camp, and I ditched to come home for the summer (remind me to tell you *that* story sometime), I was in need of some serious cash.

Enter Las Casas… for about two days. I have said since then, and will continue to say until the end of forever, “I couldn’t cut it as a waitress.” Huge props to those of you that can do it.

I just could not. I would have been waaaay too tempted to spit in someone’s food. Not that I make a habit of doing that. Have no fear, if you are ever a guest in my home, I would never spit in your food. Except for you, Jesse Levine. I used to spit in your food on a weekly basis. But anyway.

If you’ve never met me, and you just stumbled on my little blog here because you were looking for the ‘Home of the White Wings!’, here’s a couple of fun, little facts about me: I’m cute. I’m friendly. And I’m a bit of a hot-head.

And I knew there would come a time when a customer would piss me off, and in the most passive-aggressive way possible, I would SPIT in their enchiladas. And then possibly use my pinky finger to swirl the glob right into the red sauce. Yummy.

I do not take well to being talked ugly to. Nope. True story… once when I was working part-time at a jewelry store (I won’t tell you the name, but it rhymes with Same Slavery), we would offer to clean and polish people’s rings, necklaces, etc. We didn’t mind doing it (well, *I* didn’t mind) in fact, there’s nothing like seeing a beat-up ring looking all shiny and new again. But it was a store courtesy, people… not a God-given right.

I only did it the one time. But, damn, it felt good. And I’m not proud of it, but it went down a little something like this… I’ll be ‘the Jerk’. You be ‘Me (it’s easy. It involves a lot of being perky and smiling sweetly):

Jerk: "Hey, can you clean this?" (holding out his ring, which ironically was engraved with a cross. Go figure.)

Me (smiling sweetly): "Sure! Is there anything else I can do for you?" (oftentimes people would have more than one item they’d want us to clean, so it never hurt to ask)

Jerk (snottily): "Uh, yeah! You think I’m going to actually buy anything in here?" (rolls eyes)

Me (getting increasingly perky… cause that’s what I do when I’m seething inside): "Okay, sir, I’ll be right back."

Jerk: "How long’s it gonna take?"

Me (still smiling. Still sweet…): "I’ll have it right out, as soon as I polish and wash it!"

Jerk: "Because I’m in a hurry."

Me: "Won’t take but just a minute for me to polish it on the polishing wheel, and rinse it."







With my spit. My perky, perky spit.





And I think this explains, in part, my propensity to be overly nice to anyone who is waiting on me. Waiters in restaurants, customer service reps, nurses in the hospital after I deliver a big fat-headed baby. I say things like… ‘would you mind?’ and ‘whenever you get a chance…’ and ‘I’d love more Percoset when you get around to it…’ (they *do* look at you a little funny when you say that to the waitress at Red Robin, though)

Because I’ve been there, and if you’ve ever waited tables, or worked retail, or had one of those jobs that certain people would consider menial or ‘beneath them’ (oh, I don’t know, like being a teacher), you have ‘been there’ too. And you know the importance of common courtesy, and kindness, and allowing people to do their job and maintain their dignity. It’s just the decent thing to do.





Plus? I fear your spit.