On Forgetfulness, Forks, and Tampons

Last week I got bumped from the schedule on Saturday because the new guy was going to work it instead. This week I was back on because the new guy got booted. I was impressed. The owners, for some reason, almost never fire anyone. As one of my co-workers so aptly put it, "Why the hell do you think I'm still here?" When I asked Marianne what happened, she said, "We listened to you guys." So, the moral of the story is that you don't have to worry about losing your job because you can't do it, you only have to worry if all of your coworkers despise you. Remember that if you ever want to work at my bar.

In light of suddenly working Saturday again, I tried to finagle my way out of it with Marianne, eventually working it around to me coming in late and potentially leaving early. Last night, after talking with John and Brandi, we worked it around to me only coming in tonight if they need me. Because of this, when it got slow and came time for either Brandi or I to go home last night, I let her go even though I'd gotten there first. I figured she'd be covering for me tonight, right? I did this, despite the past evidence that any time I make a call like that, where I make a sacrifice one night in order to get something the next, it never works out. If I had to bet money, I'd bet that I'll have to go in tonight. Still, I was hoping that maybe this time the karma will work out in my favor. Cross your fingers for me.

Last month, one of my coworkers asked if I had any tampons. Last night the same coworker asked me the same question. I don't get it. Let's use a little logic here. This whole menstruation thing tends to happen regularly, what's with the lack of planning? So, she ducked out for a bit to make a tampon run. While she was gone, a couple came in. Technically, they were my coworker's table since it was her turn in the rotation. However, since she was desperately purchasing feminine hygiene supplies, they were all mine.

They order a couple of Bud Lights, then ask for a food menu. I give them dinner menus, which they look at for a while, but that's not what they want. They want an appetizer menu. Then the guy wants me to read it to him 'cause he doesn't have his glasses. Apparently, his wife(?) is illiterate. So, I name off a few of our appetizers, to which he replies, "Huh? What's that?"
Me: (enunciating lots) Spin-ach and Art-i-choke dip.
Him: What about the shrimp? (which I didn't say, which means he read it, even though he doesn't have his glasses and therefore can't read)
Me: The shrimp bowl is three dozen cocktail shrimp.
Him: Oh, we don't want that. What comes on the loaded nachos?
Me: (for the love of god, I so don't want to play this game. I rattle 'em off)
Him: Huh?
Me: It comes with jalapenos...
Him: Okay, we want that.
Me: (Hallelujah)
-Then he orders two more beers for him and the little woman, despite having barely touched the first ones I brought them. Apparently, he suffers from server-abandonment anxiety. Now, the topper on this cake is when I brought them their nachos and they asked for silverware. Yes, friends, that's right. They need forks to eat their nachos with. Finally, they asked for the check, then he asked me to read the total for him, then I got a 10% tip.

All of this because my coworker once again forgot that she's a pre-menopausal female.

It was incredibly slow for a Friday night, perhaps because of the threat of a storm, or maybe because of the twenty MPH wind. When Rob and Melissa came in, and then my friend Dorothy, it helped ease my boredom by giving me people to talk to. Later on a gal I want to high school with came to hang out in the basement. During one of my boredom-avoiding excursions to basement-land, I chatted with her a bit and found out that my brother had a nickname in high school which I never knew about. Nice.

About two hours after I arrived at the bar, a group came in. They were one of the last people to leave as we told people, "Okay, we're closed now, see ya." That's right, gang, this table was at the bar nearly as long as I was. They came, they ordered, they made no mention of separate checks, and so I put them all together because I had this thought that they wanted to be on one check instead of five. Flash forward to 1:40 a.m. when I bring the check and the group's ringleader starts pointing at people, "Okay, they're a couple, and she's a single, and they're a couple."
Me: Uh, yeah. I have no idea, at this point, who ordered what. I'm going to need your help sorting it out.
Ringleader: Okay. Can I borrow your pen?
So they all put their heads together and it takes 'em a good fifteen minutes to figure out which drinks belonged to who, and they're the ones who ordered the drinks. I kept looking over at the table and seeing two gals leaning over, pen in hand, trying to get it sorted, and I kept feeling a twinge of evil satisfaction. Ha! Take that, evil-doers.

Word to the wise - the time to tell your server you want separate checks is before you start to order, not after you've been camped out at your table for eight hours.

Gal: It's his birthday.
B-day boy: How old do you think I am?
Me: A million?
B-day boy: (cracks up)
-later, at kicking-everybody-out time.
Me: Thanks for coming, guys. You have a good night.
B-day boy: You too. Even if you did say I was a million.

To finish this off, here's a joke from Donny:
What do you call a pig in a karate class?
A porkchop!

And that, hopefully, is it for this week. And next week too, given that I'll be off on the mystery adventure vacation. Mexico, here I come!