I’ve been hosting again, one night a week, because [the place where i work] is running short on door staff. It’s fine because it just means I don’t have to run food once a week, which is a sweaty, crappy job that makes me even less money than playing hostess. Not that one is more difficult than the other, but one if definitely more physical. Sometimes when I run food on Sunday for brunch I count how many large trays that require jacks I carry. And it’s like 40.

But you can hide from the hideous customers in the kitchen when you are running food. You only have to deal with the heat and attitude from behind the line. I find if you bring them ice water before the shift begins they ease up a little. At least until it gets busy.

But the customers who have to wait for a table can be brutal. What happens to people when they get hungry? I do it to. My blood sugar drops and I wait until the last minute to eat and decide a restaurant in fastest only to find a wait to sit down. It’s maddening. However, wholely not my fault. This is where people seem to get confused. And you should hear the reasons why they think they should get to sit down right away. Like, "I own a business, I know how this works. And I think there has to be something you can do." Or, "We’re parked illegally and need to get in and out quickly."

My host shifts are always on the busiest nights when they most need people at the front door, but I’m always the relief. At 6 p.m., after it’s been dark for two hours, I go in and it’s like walking into a buzzsaw. The place is crazy. Every night is so nuts that I forget to tell the boyfriend stories like the one I’m about to tell for days. Just another day on the job.

Friday night at our peak hour I was talking to my manager when the bartender, Sweetie Sweaty K., yelled out "J., go up there a man has collapsed in the floor!" J. didn’t hear him but I did, so I repeated what K. said. My manager took a deep breath then made his way into the fray. I told the lead host what was going on after she finished taking down five more new parties. "What the fuck?!," she said, still writing, not looking up at me. "Go check it out and come right back."

So I circled through the bar and climbed the steps to see an old man, now in his chair, but barely, surrounded by people, two of whom seemed to be holding him up. It looked like he was mildly convulsing. My manager tells me to tell the head host to call 911.

People are streaming in and tables are getting up and people are looking very disturbed and anxious. There is a traffic jam at the door because the head host is consumed with talking to the people from the 911 call center. She couldn’t tell them much about his condition because she couldn’t leave her spot. "Conscious but very unwell" was what she told them and within five minutes a fire engine and ambulance arrived. The scene ended almost as soon as it began. The next two-top I sat asked me if they were going to be seated where the man collapsed. "No," I smiled. Then I thought to myself, "Just beside there."

I also never told you about the day a homeless guy came in just before dusk and toko a piss just in front of the bar. Then didn’t say anything and walked right out.