Speechless
I spent the entire day and evening on my feet yesterday asking, “Would you like fries with that?”, because I’m a success, and I enjoy waiting on tables and refining my humble serving skills. The skills that got me through college many moons ago and the skills I thought I‘d never need to use again but was glad to have, just-in-case, but hoped just-in-case never came, but it did. And here we are. Or rather, here I am.
You are there and I am here. Just for the record. My record. So I can keep everything straight.
So. I’m perfecting my technique in case it ever becomes in vogue to be a servant, but in the history of man-kind that’s never been the case, so I don’t know why it would change now. Maybe we can start a movement for the “little people“. Save The Servants, Servants Deserve Respect Too, Be Nice to The Person that has The Food that You’re Going to Put into Your Mouth Movement.
The owner of this establishment enjoys a drink or 5, hundred, and he can make for some great entertainment- telling stories, being too loud sometimes and when we’re lucky, being brutally honest.
One night, very late in the evening, everyone was gone except a pair of lovers who were finishing their coffee. With nothing left to do but wait, I leaned on the bar where the owner was cleaning up. We made small chit-chat about this, that, and the economy, and he asked how my small home-business was doing. I told him how it’s been a little slow and I how I look forward to things getting better, yada, yada, when he looks up, half-jokingly and half-drunkingly says, there must be some strip clubs near me to pick up some extra cash.
Well, hell. I should’ve been insulted, and I was, in the tiniest of proper ways, but I was flattered. Flattered he’d even think such a thing. Me and my 41-year-old self being considered a possible stripper. I’ve arrived. I’ve finally arrived! Maybe I won’t have to paste that fake grin on my face and ask if they want fries with that anymore. I’ll take a compliment where I can get it. I humbled myself and told him I didn’t think they would hire me and he, in his brutal inebriated honesty responds with,
Ego deflated. POOF! All gone. It was so unedited, so raw, so unflattering and so shocking that it was actually kind of funny. He knows not what he says and seemed perfectly un-phased at shattering my hopes, my temporary dreams. But as I reflected back on his comment I realized that even a stripper has to stand on her feet all night with a fake grin and she’s probably colder than I am, but maybe she saves on clothes and laundry.
And that’s why I hold my head up so high and walk a little taller. That’s how I got this great self-esteem. TEN YEARS AGO? I’m going into therapy and blaming everything on him.
You are there and I am here. Just for the record. My record. So I can keep everything straight.
So. I’m perfecting my technique in case it ever becomes in vogue to be a servant, but in the history of man-kind that’s never been the case, so I don’t know why it would change now. Maybe we can start a movement for the “little people“. Save The Servants, Servants Deserve Respect Too, Be Nice to The Person that has The Food that You’re Going to Put into Your Mouth Movement.
The owner of this establishment enjoys a drink or 5, hundred, and he can make for some great entertainment- telling stories, being too loud sometimes and when we’re lucky, being brutally honest.
One night, very late in the evening, everyone was gone except a pair of lovers who were finishing their coffee. With nothing left to do but wait, I leaned on the bar where the owner was cleaning up. We made small chit-chat about this, that, and the economy, and he asked how my small home-business was doing. I told him how it’s been a little slow and I how I look forward to things getting better, yada, yada, when he looks up, half-jokingly and half-drunkingly says, there must be some strip clubs near me to pick up some extra cash.
Well, hell. I should’ve been insulted, and I was, in the tiniest of proper ways, but I was flattered. Flattered he’d even think such a thing. Me and my 41-year-old self being considered a possible stripper. I’ve arrived. I’ve finally arrived! Maybe I won’t have to paste that fake grin on my face and ask if they want fries with that anymore. I’ll take a compliment where I can get it. I humbled myself and told him I didn’t think they would hire me and he, in his brutal inebriated honesty responds with,
“Well, you could’ve been a stripper, like, maybe,10 years ago.”
Ego deflated. POOF! All gone. It was so unedited, so raw, so unflattering and so shocking that it was actually kind of funny. He knows not what he says and seemed perfectly un-phased at shattering my hopes, my temporary dreams. But as I reflected back on his comment I realized that even a stripper has to stand on her feet all night with a fake grin and she’s probably colder than I am, but maybe she saves on clothes and laundry.
And that’s why I hold my head up so high and walk a little taller. That’s how I got this great self-esteem. TEN YEARS AGO? I’m going into therapy and blaming everything on him.
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