As punishment for having a couple of days off from job number one, I returned this week to an extraordinary amount of work. And because I worked at the restaurant last Thursday, and picked up an extra shift on Saturday, I’ve been working twelve days straight now, so it doesn’t feel like I’ve had a break. I am, in fact, more tired than I was pre-holiday. But I have tonight off. Woohoo!
The above paragraph was not a ploy for sympathy, rather a sorry excuse for my lack of posts this week (as if anyone was sitting at their computer, damning me and the internet gods for not allowing them their semi-regular dose of this fem’s ranting).
So, backing way up to Thanksgiving, mine wasn’t so horrible after all. The kid and I had a nice breakfast and played some video games before I went to work and he went to dinner with our friends. The restaurant was insanely busy, but most people ordered the turkey dinner, which was a dip item and could be served very quickly, and those who did order something off the grill were pretty much alone so those meals came out fast too. I turned tables pretty fast and with few exceptions got twenty percent from almost everybody. I walked out with an apron pocket bulging with cash.
After the shift, one of the other servers invited us all over to her house for dinner. Her roommates are in the restaurant biz too – one is a server at a pizza place in the west end, and the other two are chefs at a pretty popular new restaurant in the Fan. So we were treated to a great meal. We sat around and smoked and drank, and I got into a really lengthy discussion about politics with one of the chef roommates.
It was really great to feel smart again.
Even though I work at a university, most of the professors in the department tend to only talk to me when they need something, or they briefly ask me how my day was or comment on the weather. They either forget or never bothered to find out that I have an education and they tend to dismiss me as “just a secretary.” It’s academic snobbery that I find very annoying. Then I go to the restaurant, where the guests tend to see me as beneath them because, hey, I’m serving them biscuits and sweet tea, which I would only be doing if I wasn’t smart enough to do anything else, right?
Anyway, the chef and I had a great discussion and started talking about fascism and at one point, after realizing I had been monopolizing the conversation, I looked around the room at a couple of my co-workers from the restaurant and they were just staring at me and one of them said, “Man, that’s some deep shit.”
Then they changed the subject to sports and I stopped talking and allowed the boys their swagger as they showed off their knowledge of which team topped the BCS standings and which players were going to be free agents next season in the NFL.
Apparently, though word got around the restaurant that I had a lot to say that night, and now I’m not only known as that damned hippie feminist chick, but as that damned commie feminist chick.
Sweet.
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