Entries from April 2005 ↓

I nearly died last night. I shit you not, I almost killed myself and my friend Pam. We were coming back from an essential oils meeting at a friend’s house in North Nashville. We both had lavender on our wrists and were feeling relaxed and calm.

I was travelling about 65 mph on Interstate 65. We popped up over a hill in the third lane of traffic to find a full-sized tire in the middle of the lane. Stupidly, I swerved into the left lane to avoid hitting it. My car was moving way too fast to jerk the wheel that hard so it starting careening to the left. I jerked the wheel hard to the right to compensate. Again, another spectacularly stupid move. I tried to center the car in a lane–any lane–but instead the car starting spinning out of control. Pam and I did a nice, fat 180 in the middle of the freeway complete with smoke and screeching tires and everything.

Luckily my car’s engine died and we came to a halt just feet from the cement median. Neither one of us was hurt and the car didn’t have a scratch. However, we wound up sitting perpendicular to traffic in the left-hand (aka fast) lane. I was hoping to drive my car in the right direction and get the hell out of harm’s way. But Pam was in the passenger side nearest the barreling SUVs and tractor trailers while I was trying to restart my car when she said, FUCK IT, I’M OUT. Trumping me in smarts here big time, Pam thought it best to get out of the vehicle in case we got slammed into by someone who saw us way too late. I joined her on the left shoulder and waited for my car to get pummeled.

But it didn’t. Two cars had seen what happened and stopped to assist. One of the gentleman, a truck driver in his personal car, moved my Nissan to the right shoulder safely. Then we ran across a busy interstate to get to it.

It all happened so fast. You knew I was going to say that, didn’t you? It’s so crazy what I was thinking. At first I thought nothing. Only drivethecar, drivethecar, drivethecar. When we began our spin out of control I thought "This is going to be bad." Pam tells me she thought we were dead. It felt like the car was going to roll at any time. However, I didn’t think to consider death. I certainly could have died. We both could have died smelling of sweet lavender on the interstate on a Sunday night. And I wouldn’t have seen it coming.

Pam didn’t get to sleep until 6 a.m. that morning. She was pretty shaken by what happened. It still seems so unbelievable to me what could have resulted.

I’m knocking on my wooden t.v. tray as I type that I’ve been very lucky lately. Very, very lucky.

P.S. Forgive the technical difficulties there, but I’ve begun posting at Nashville is Talking. Feel free to comment there even though the number of comments fails to show up on the front page.

I’m getting a leg up on the job blog and compiling the most extensive list of regularly updated websites in Nashville that I possibly can. I’m going to need a pretty deep database of blogs and publications and stuff to keep Nashville is Talking diverse and interesting. (URL to the new site coming soon.)

This is where you come in. If you think there is a REGULARLY UPDATED website in Nashville that I need to know about, please email me at brittneyg@[NO SPAM]gmail.com. Please don’t send me a link to the livejournal you update once a month. Also, no band sites please unless there is some sort of frequently updated blog or newsletter there. This is Nashville after all and that could get out of hand.

I’ve got all the standards: The Tennessean, the Rage, the Scene, the news stations, the radio stations, the college newspapers. I’m mainly looking for independently run web sites. If your blog isn’t listed at right AND YOU LIVE IN NASHVILLE please leave your name and URL in the comments. If you know of a great local web zine or art project or photoblog that updates a lot, send those on, too.

Thanks in advance for your recommendations. Oh, and don’t forget to clock out before going home.

Well, wouldn’t you know, I’m going out at [the restaurant where i work] with a big, fat bang. Last night at 7:30, when the sun goes down and the people get hungry, I was busy. Really busy. I got double-sat* and had to give wine service at Table 23, while 26 was finished eating and wanted more decaf.

I treated both new tables like one big one and swooped back by with a tray full of wine–a South African chardonnay, a cheap cabarnet and two mid-priced pinot noirs. I stopped at Table 24 and gingerly sat down the chilled white wine. A shriek and an "Oh! Baby!" rang out in my ears before I watched, stunned, as all three glasses of red wine rained down on the man at my right. I swear I don’t know how it happened. Broken glass littered the ground and wine rushed over the edge of the table in a sheet. I looked over at the man I’d bathed in stinky, staining red wine. He was laughing.

"I. Am so. Sorry," I said. And I meant it. I was so sorry. I landed my liquid-topped tray on an empty chair and ran to gather linen and soda water. Like that was going to help. He was fucking COVERED. By the time I was back my manager was at the table with a broom and dustpan sweeping up all the pieces, all the while calmly explaining to the wine-doused gentleman that we’d gladly compensate him for the shirt or the cleaning bill, whichever the case may be. Another server crouchedd with a towel in her hand picking up the large pieces she could handle without incident. Each of us moved swiftly and quietly as though this were all just part of the show.

"This is so humiliating," I confessed to him. "Is there anything at all I can do to make you feel more comfortable?" He turned to me, smiled and said, "Look. It’s not acid. It’s just wine. You carry stuff for a living so your chances of dropping something are pretty high. This is something we can tell our kids about."

"Or the internet," I said. Actually no, I didn’t.

I couldn’t believe how gracious he was. He was just so nice. When I told him we were taking care of the tab he double-checked to make sure I wouldn’t be stuck with his bill. I assured him I wouldn’t.

Even my other tables were nice about it. Everyone was patient when I told them their wine would be another minute since guy in the corner took a bath in it. And this sweet old lady said, "I admire you. I really do. I would have started crying and run in the back and never come out. You really kept your cool."

I was surprised to find fat tips from all the tables in attendance of my little performance. Seems I should have spilled wine a few more times in these past ten years of waitressing. I expect people to be dicks, mostly, after being in the service industry for so long, but really people are mostly nice and considerate and don’t mean much harm. Took me quite a while to figure that out.

*Restaurant lingo for two tables being seated simultaneously.

I can’t believe I’m actually about to type this, but if the last couple of kinks are worked out successfully I will wait my last table on May 1, 2005. That Sunday morning I will ask for the last time if you want something to drink. In a week and a half I may never tie on an apron again. Starting in just nine days I’m going to come home from work and not smell like food. Instead I’m going to smell like a blog.

WKRN News2, the station that aired that story on bloggers in which I was included, has asked me to join their team as a full-time blogger. My actual title is still to be determined, but Monday through Friday from 8 to 5 I’ll be blogging directly from the station’s news room just behind the anchors and weather desk and lights and camera and action. I’ll be responsible for writing and editing the content of WKRN’s newest website, a blog called Nashville is Talking. The blog will be an extention of the News2 broadcasts as well as a general news/gossip/happenings site that will revolve around all things Music City. Local blogs will be aggregated at the right of the page, but the left side will be produced solely by yours truly. The aim of the site is to create discussion and dialogue about local events and topics–a subjective narrative with feedback from Nashville readers. Of course, those outside of Tennessee are welcome to comment, but the blog will be very Nashville-centric.

AND THEY WANT ME TO RUN IT!

There is just one tiny snag to wrinkle out and then it’s a done deal: Professional. Blogger. Who the fuck woulda thunk it? Seriously, yay me.

Can you have seperate checks? More lemon? Extra grilled vegetables? NO YOU CAN’T, CAUSE I’M BUSY BLOGGIN’ AND GETTIN’ PAID FOR IT. COMMENT ON THAT, FOOLS.

I’m taking a little unplanned hiatus. I should be back by Wednesday with more news about Project Professional Blogger.

The Scene: Lunch yesterday
The Players: Myself and A Woman ordering salad

Woman: I’ll have the Mediterranean salad, but I don’t want any orzo pasta. Just throw in extra grilled vegetables.
Me: (reeling through the 20 or so items in the Mediterranean salad) Grilled vegetables?
Woman: Aren’t there grilled vegetables in that salad?
Me: (finally sure that there aren’t) No.
Woman: (looking down at her menu and raising her voice) ROASTED. RED. PEPPERS. Aren’t those grilled?!
Me: (looking astonished, I’m sure) Well, they’re roasted. But you can have extra peppers if you want them.

She actually rolled her eyes at me through the rest of the meal. "Care to look over the dessert menu?" *eye roll*

She went on to tip more than anyone else at the table which confirms my belief that people often tip a standard amount rather than based on their perception of service. Or maybe she knew she was out of line.

Doubtful.

I told the story to my manager who scanned the dining room only once before accurately picking her out.

If your physician suggests an anti-depressant for your mild depression, addiction and MAJOR ANXIETY and she even tells you that it might make you more nervous, you might want to question that decision. Because you wouldn’t want to spend the next 48 hours FREAKING RIGHT THE FUCK OUT having panic attacks at Taste of India when there is delicious palak paneer and daal fry to be had. (Mmmm, and mint chutney.) You wouldn’t want to spend a perfectly beautiful Saturday or Sunday night balled up in the floor trying to breathe normally and not fly right out of the skin you’d rather claw off than exist within. You wouldn’t want to feel like running yet be totally incapable of getting off the couch.

You know you wouldn’t want that. You’ve been warned.

Today I have an interview to determine if a company wants to give me money to blog. Can you believe that? Yeah, me either.

UPDATE: The meeting went well. I think I actually said the words "I have my finger on the pulse of internet culture." Let’s hope they don’t hold that against me. I’ll find out more by the end of the week.

• A fellow waitress politely pulled out a chair for a female guest when seating them at a table. The reponse: "I think I can pick my own chair, thank you."
• Rather than asking me to, a lady said this about her check: "YOU DIDN’T SEPARATE IT FOR US!"
• "I didn’t want anymore tea, I had it just how I like it. Thanks anyway."
• A woman shoved a handful of trash at the hostess and said, "I saved this for you."
• A man walked in on his cell phone, made no attempt at eye contact, just flashed two fingers at the hostess. When she attempted to ask his name and the name of his guest who’d be arriving later he looked pissed.
• A grumpy old man to my manager: "WHY DON’T WE PUT THE PLATES HERE INSTEAD OF ON TOP OF MY PAPERS." Before she’d even put down a single dish.
• A man at a table of four agreed everyone would like to hear the specials. Then once I began to speak he struck up conversation with the guy next to him. Then later on, naturally, he asked me what the soup du jour was.

The Nashville Film Festival begins next Thursday and so it is time again for the Nashville Scene’s film festival guide Reel Nashville 2005. Within that link you will find five (Count ‘em. Five!) short film reviews written by none other than [*points thumbs at self*] this guy.

You should read them all, of course, but the ones by me will have my name all up after them.