Things I Overheard While I Worked Today’s Lunch Shift

Table Number 24

Lady With The Horsey Laugh: “Yeah, girl, she is a Life Coach!:
Lady Who Got All Uptight About Her Straw: “Oh God, is she any good?”
LWTHL: “Oh yeah, girl, she is a great Life Coach, but her morals are out of whack. She is sleeping with her client’s teenaged son. And she has a teenaged son of her own, who, it turns out, she’s been having an incestuous affair with. Her son finally stopped the affair. She got so mad she gave all his clothes away to the homeless.”
LWGAUAHS: “And she’s a Life Coach?”
LWTHL: “Yeah, girl, Cathy swears by her.”

Table Number 28

Blonde And Newly Signed Country “Artist”: “I know this is going to sound weird, but can you ask the kitchen to measure out exactly three ounces of chicken? I’m on a very restrictive diet. That is all I want. Three ounces of grilled chicken. And don’t worry, I don’t mind paying the $10.50.”

(later, after asked about dessert)

BANSCA: “I have to get out of here. I have to go get famous.”

Table Number 5

Guy Without A Single Clue: “Can I get a caramel Frappacino?”
S, Guy’s Waitress: “We don’t actually have the stuff to make that drink, but I can make you an iced coffee.”
GWASC: “Will it come with caramel and mocha and all that? Blended?”
S, GW: “No, I’m sorry. It won’t.”

Table Number 22

Lady With The Bruised Mouth: “Liposuction? You had it?”
Lady Drinking The Kir Royale: “Yes, and it hurts like fucking hell, but not more than you will like how it looks. I definitely think you should get it done too.”

The clientele at the restaurant where I work is quite varied. No one brings their kids, except for Sunday Brunch, but we regularly serve just about every age group. There is but one consistent characteristic in each and every patron that walks through our doors: They are all lousy with money.

The people I wait on can otherwise be charcaterized and grouped as such:

Music Industry Shitheads - These cool cats are always wearing jeans and waving around marked-on CD-Rs that bear the names of tomorrow’s hottest country music sensations. They order bottled water instead of drinking from the tap and they answer my questions with things like, “Medium rare. Rock on.”

Totally Annoying Salespeople - They always, always need to borrow my pen.

Vandy Students - The Vanderbilt students who eat where I work are not representative of all Vanderbilt students. But the ones who eat where I work ALL LOOK THE SAME. It is some kind of freaky, I tell ya. The girls are thin. Endlessly, unbelievably thin with super, super shiny stick-straight hair. The all wear the same ponchos and flouncy skirts and kitten heels. Their tans are even the exact same, the kind of flawless tan that only truly rich people have time to acheive. The guys all have the same dopey, conservative haircut and Polo shirts and crisp khaki trousers. They are all so humorless-looking and stale.

Vandy Professors - Vanderbilt professors look like actors playing professors in some stupid movie. Bowties for the gentlemen and topknots for the ladies. They are usually very quiet in a cranky way, and often dine alone.

Doctor’s Office Ladies - Doctors love to take the nurses and assistants and administrative types out to eat for their birthdays and whatnot where I work. They come in dressed in their scrubs and order “tea punch” (which we don’t have) and ask for straws and baskets of bread. THEY MUST EACH HAVE A STRAW. Straws are apparently a pressing, urgent matter for doctor’s office ladies.

Anal Face Club - These are the women who’ve had so much plastic surgery that their faces have caved in to resemble the butt orifice known as an asshole. They did not have a face lift or little tummy tuck. These women have implanted their cheeks and crumbled their noses and stretched their eyelids all out. They often have the body of a 20-year-old woman with their fake tits and tiny, tiny frames. It is impossible to estimate the ages of any of the Anal Face Club, but I would guess the average age is somwhere around 65-108.

Lawyers - It has been my experience that lawyers are endlessly amused by how much money they make, bringing it up often in conversation. But obly to other lawyers.

Wears-sunglasses-indoors Artists - We have our fair share of print artists and designers and gallery owners and painters who come in high, wearing their sunglasses. They are often so fucked up they have to be escorted to the table at which time they order something off the menu of the restaurant they owner had five years ago.

The Mean Girls - They don’t frequent the place as some of these other groups but occasionally rich teenaged girls’ mothers talk them into going out to eat as a family. These girls are also thin, but you can see just how thin thanks to the tiny swathes of Gucci material they call clothing. These 13-year-old chicks are carrying $500 Coach purses around on 6″ designer heels! They look like sorry, pre-pubescent Paris Hilton clones until they order Shirley Temples. Then it is easy to remember they are just little girls.

Waldorf/Montessori Moms - No make-up for these moms! NO TIME! They are just too busy being the most nuturing parent they can be to their OBVIOUSLY brilliant 5-year-old who finally learn to shit in a toilet. Montessori moms often talk about what fabric is best the for bringing out the genius in their toddler and how they’ve taken away all the black crayons in the house because it’s best to give a child only cheery options. They always take their uneaten food to-go, even if it is just a few grilled vegetables lying limply on an empty plate. They drive Volvos. They tip for shit.

reading
baking sugar cookies
writing and reworking two pieces for entry into a local writing competition
blowing my nose
watching football
organizing the new blog, The Double R
thinking about quitting
meditating
mulling over the season finale of “Six Feet Under”
spending time with the sister
making my boyfriend sick
taking a break from the gym
sleeping
tripping unto the light fantastic
considering getting a puppy
starting a new project