New Paint Job, and A Five-ish Mile Walk

This weekend my parents/landlords started painting my house. Now it's in the initial, primer colored stages of going from white with pink trim to gray with gray-blue trim, and thank Ralph for that, pink is a scary color and should have nothing at all to do with the place in which I live.

Now, while I was away from the house for a while, this is what happened: my dad, while painting on primer, bonded with my dog. This part is good. My dog, while bonding with my dad, decided to hunker down directly beneath the ladder he was using. This part is less good and more comical. The oil-based primer, while being applied by my dad, happened to drip down upon my dog. Now my dog is walking around dalmation-style with spots and streaks of white embedded in her fur. All she needs is a bit of the trim color for accent and we'll really be in business.

As I type this, Sherman is asleep. She's been asleep for a couple hours already. Lazy dog. Today we went for a relatively short walk around the riverwalk where she got to excitedly lunge for kids and I got to tightly hang on to her leash, and she got to meet a big white Newfoundland dog. Oh boy. Yesterday, though, we walked along the nature trail for about two hours. I'm not sure of our exact mileage, but I'm guessing it was somewhere around the five/six mile range, which makes it our longest walk to date. Sherman had an early night last night, needless to say (but there I've said it anyway).

Yes, I know I'm slacking on bar stuff lately in favor of dog stuff ('cause she's way more fun and new to boot). I do have bar stuff from this weekend that I'll post soon, though.

The New-Dog-Exercise-Plan

While we have not, thankfully, had a repeat of that nearly-murderous night, we are still working out kinks in this whole sleeping at night thing. It tends to work best when she's had a full, tiring day. Then she crashes and is dead to the world for hours at a time.

Even before getting Sherman, I knew that a dog would get me out of the house and moving about more. However, I hadn't quite realized to what extent this would be true. These past couple of days my mindset has changed. It's not longer a matter of taking the dog for a stroll to the park, it's a matter of doing all I possibly can to wear her out during the day so I can sleep during the night.

This morning was cool and overcast, so I leaped on the opportunity to take the beast on a three-mile constitutional down by the river. This afternoon I had to pick up my check from the bar, so I packed her in the car and took her along, with a detour to walk the river walk a bit (a different place than where we were this morning in a whole other part of town). Then she got to meet Dave, Debbie, Laura and one of our regulars, all of whom offered the appropriate amount of oohing and ahhing to my wildly-excited-to-make-new-friends dog. Seriously, she's a spaz when it comes to new people, her tail goes all a blur and the rest of her body wiggles madly with the force of it.

Which is funny, because on our first walk along the river she was in a different state of mind altogether. Each time someone would approach, she'd basically get defensive and bark at them with her hackles raised. So, each time someone would approach, I'd make her sit and pet her as the jogger, walker, bicyclist, etc. went by. She caught on fast to this and now instead of wanting to warn off passersby she now desperately wants to make friends with them, especially if said passersby utter anything resembling "Oh, look at the cute doggie." It's impressive how wildly she can squirm and wag her tail when she hears that adoring tone of voice.

Right, digression over. Back to this whole wearing her out thing. Now, anyone who knows this sort of thing will tell you that one big advantage human physiology has over a four-legged construction is that, by virtue of walking on fewer appendages, it takes less energy for us to propel ourselves. Thus, while a cheatah can certainly beat us in a sprint, we can always beat a cheatah at walking. So, the relevance is that my dog gets tired faster than I do, which means we can take longer walks, which means I can get her even more tired, while not wearing myself out. Ah, biology is fun.

Currently, I'm playing the pest and doing what I can to disallow her the opportunity to sleep. Payback's a, well, you figure out the pun.

The Night I Almost Murdered My New Dog

The first two nights with Sherman proved painless. She crashed early and slept the night through. I think the excitement of new people and a new place, combined with the exercise of walks (which were new, exciting, and multiple) wore her out sufficiently to make her a sound sleeper. Foolishly, I thought, "Okay, she'll be easy at night."

Yesterday we mostly hung around the house and she took a couple of naps during the day and afternoon. I thought little of this. Then, last night I thought I'd head to bed early since I was still a bit tired from Friday night. Eleven thirty, she's got her front paws on my bed, nudging at me. We go out to the backyard to let her go to the bathroom.

One o'clock, I am awakened by dog paws on the bed and dog tongue on my face. Once again, to the back yard. There's a party in the house across the alley that's still going on. Sherman feels the need to bark the laughter coming through the window, which means I have to call her over to me and make her sit down while I pet her (this, I've found, is the best way of shutting her up).
One thirty, she decides it'd be fun to climb in bed with me. (I've decided to enforce a no dogs on furniture policy, so this requires addressing)

Four o'clock, she has to go outside again. By now I'm calling her some not-so-nice names and telling her that I've changed my mind and don't really want a dog after all.

Five o'clock-ish, front paws on the bed, she looks at me with her tail wagging. I look back at her and mutter something about strangulation. I look out the window, it's starting to get light. For a reason I've not yet figured out, when it's dark at night she barks lots, so I hesitate to leave her outside. However, all things considered, I figure it's close enough to daylight. I take her and her food/water dishes outside, leave them there, and sleep for four straight, dog-free hours. When I wake up after them, I decide I will not, after all, murder her.

This afternoon, while I'm working on the computer and drinking cappucino because I need the caffeine, she takes a series of naps. It would seem that being up all night made her tired.

I'm not sure exactly what made her so restless last night. I wonder if it was being mostly inside during the day, the excitement of all the noises coming from the neighbor's party, or simply that she drank too much water before bed. All I know is that we have a bit of adjustment to work on, because sleeping for only an hour or two at a time makes me cranky. Very cranky.

Around four thirty today, I packed her in the car and drove to city park so we could walk to the nature center. We walked a solid three miles, our longest walk to date. Her tongue was lolling out and she'd stopped pulling excitedly on the leash by the time we finished our first mile.

I will sleep soundly tonight, I think.

Back in the Trenches

Friday night. Laura's curse holds out. (Her second one that is). I walk in at six to find nearly every table full and Laura dashing madly about. It's a good half hour before I get a table of my own, and it holds pretty quiet for the remainder of the night, with a little rush around midnight when the wedding gets out.

The bar promptly clears out around seven, and Laura and I sit around twiddling our thumbs. About now a couple walks in. Laura leans over to me, "Can you take them, I don't get along with the chick." I say I can, but it ends up being a moot point as they walk up to the bar and stand exactly in the server section. Awesome.

The guy looks kinda familiar, I think, "Is it?" Sure enough, it's a guy who was a bartender for a while when I first started at the bar. You'd think if anyone would know better than to stand in the server station, it'd be a bartender. Especially a bartender who worked at this exact bar. Yeesh.

Two ladies come in and sit by the ATM. They're the indecisive type. Yay.
Gal 1: Are those games over there for playing with?
Me: Nope, they're purely decorative. Yeah, help yourselves.
They quickly prove to be pains in my rear. After dropping off their drinks, I ask if there's anything else I can get them. They say no, so I leave them be. A while later, I see one looking at the app. menu while standing away from the table. She puts it down and head for the bathroom. I decide that when she gets back I'll head over and ask if they'd like an appetizer, so I have a seat at the end of the bar to wait for the potty break. Moments later, the non-peeing gal walks over to the bar to ask Julia about ordering, so I head over to ask, sweetly, what I could do for her. Obviously, there is a lack of understanding (patience) here.

After a few games of Scrabble (during which I provide a Scrabble Dictionary from behind the bar) they're done. They want no more drinks, and when I ask how they're doing, they say fine and wave me off. I check on them maybe three times, each time they want nothing. Now, maybe the second time I checked on them, most customers who're done drinking would ask for the check. Not these two. No, they preferred to wait until I was otherwise occupied to, once again, go up to the bar. Again, I had to head them off and ask, once again sweetly, what I could do for 'em. Now they're ready for the check.

I drop it off. When I wander back that way to pick a song on the jukebox/see if they're ready for change, I overhear, "If we leave 10% that's $2." Lovely. (Reminder, folks, servers have keen hearing and are paying more attention to you than you think.) I head back to the bar and tell Laura what I overheard. She makes an appropriately snarky remark and we watch the table.
Laura: Think they'll leave you two bucks?
Me: I dunno, but I'd bet you money that they won't put the Scrabble game away.
They pack it back into the box and leave. The problem with having board games - most people don't have the courtesy to put them back from where they got them. These ladies are no exception. Though, they did leave me 15% (three dollar bills, a quarter, and a dime). Since I give change only in quarters, anyone who leaves me a coin smaller than a quarter baffles me. Seriously, a dime?

Around midnight-ish, the wedding reception across the street lets out, and a small crowd of people who don't feel like they've had enough alcohol yet wanders over. I count no fewer than three bridesmaids in the group, all in green strapless dresses which are actually quite pretty. They're mostly a non-issue, save that they stand around in the way. One guy who is, in particular, inconveniently positioned, also seems to be made out of elbows. Someone who stands like that, taking up as much space as humanly possible, is saying something. Usually, if it's me, I'm saying "get out of the server station, dumbass." I'm not sure what statement he was trying to make, but I had to keep nudging him out of my way.

In other news, Friday was one of those everybody-I-know nights. This time with a distinctly school theme. No fewer than five people who're students at the university came through within a few hours of each other. I could have done without two of them - but luckily they came in when Laura was still working so I passed them off to her.

While I was at the bar, my folks stopped by the house to give Sherman attention for a couple hours and let her in for the night. Since the dog and I went on a long walk Friday afternoon, she was pretty much down for the count for most of my parents' visit and though I was a bit concerned about her being in the house (locked in my room) for a few unsupervised hours, she did just fine. Sleeping dogs can't get into too much trouble.

I've gotten Sherman rabies-proofed, licensed, and bathed. Now she no longer smells like ten dirty dogs rolled into one. Then I went dog shopping on my way to campus (where I am now) to meet with Katherine briefly about something from my comp. class.

The extra goof-off money I had this week, as well as my regular goof-off money, has magically transformed into dog biscuits and toys. So, instead of going out to eat or shopping for clothes, I'm lavishing material goods on my dog. However, I'm okay with that. All the good stuff they say about pets and stress release is holding out and Sherman and I continue to get along well. Even though she's not the dog I originally planned to get, she's still a great dog for me.

Today and tonight we're testing how she does home alone. She's on her cable in the back yard right now (seemed to be doing fine when I left) and since I'm due at the bar tonight, she'll be on her own again. However, my folks are going to come by the house while I'm at work to play with her/let her in for the night, so she won't actually be alone for my whole 6 p.m.-2 a.m. shift. Between the attention she'll get from my parents (i.e. mom) and the long walk I'm going to take her on this afternoon, I think she'll do just fine.

It'll be strange to be back at work. Though I've been gone for about two weeks, my vacation time's been busy between an out-of-town trip and Sherman, so it doesn't really feel like it's been two whole weeks that I've been away from the bar. The funniest part - we get our paychecks on the 5th and 20th of the month (or a the Saturday nearest, if the date's on a day we're closed) which means that my last check has been at the bar, waiting for me for that whole time.

Anyhow, depending on how it all goes, I'm thinking I may bring Sherman by the bar tomorrow (which I have off) so she can meet some of the people and see, first-hand, some of the smells I'll be wearing when I get home after my shift. If I bring her by in the early evening it ought to be pretty dead and prime time for showing off my critter. She wouldn't mind getting extra attention, either. So much for my reclusive tendencies.

A Dog Named Sherman

Dad and I went to the pound this morning and I walked up to the front desk and said I wanted to get the lab mix. The gal said, "That dog is unavailable for adoption. She's pregnant." And just like that, my dog was no longer mine. Talk about timing/providence. So, I thought fast. Wait, or go with dog #2?

"Then I want the other one," I said.

A little bit of paperwork later and they brought her out. As you can see, she coordinates with my floor beautifully. I'm rather fond of the white smudge by her nose, too.

Whereas the original dog didn't really seem to fit my ideal dog name, this one does, so that's a win. She's only about a year old, so still a bit of puppy, but she seems like she'll be a quick learner when it comes to training, we've already gotten some good practice at going for walks. So far her house manners have been alright, too. My plan is to get her crate trained for the nights, at least at first, so we can make sure she's good and house trained. Then there's getting her bathed, up to date on shots, getting a name tag, etc. Plenty to do yet, but I think we're going to get along just fine.

By This Time Tomorrow

I should have a dog. Went to the pound today and found six that were awful cute and about the right size, shape, and age. Narrowed it down to two: a boxer mix and a yellow lab mix. Then, on Sunday mom, dad, and I met another dog that one of mom's friends doesn't have room for (looks like a beagle/boxer mix). While I like all three, I really like the lab mix. She's about fifty pounds, which is about ten more than I was looking for, but she's my favorite.

As per mom's suggestion, I'm "sleeping on it," but by the time we left the animal shelter I'd made up my mind and I imagine it'll change. When it comes to these types of decisions, I tend to know when I've decided and I really don't change my mind afterward. But, there's no harm in waiting until tomorrow morning.

Meanwhile, we're trying to get the invisible fence to work and I picked up dog supplies at the store this morning. A quick run-through of the house tomorrow to do some dog-proofing (like moving the kitchen trash to beneath the sink vs. beside the fridge) and we're in business.

Now, I just need to decide if my ideal dog name, Sherman, really fits the dog I'll be getting or if a back up name might be required.

Flyboys, Wings, and a Seeing-Eye Dog

At around seven o'clock, a group of five comes in. They're all early/mid-twenties, five guys one gal. They look somewhat reminiscent of my brother - that clean cut military look. I walk over and say hello.
Guy 1: There's going to be more of us.
Me: Ok.
Guy 2: A lot more of us. Is it okay if we scoot that table over?
Me: Knock yourselves out. What can I get you?
Guy 1: Beer. We need pitchers of beer.

By the time I get them beer and wings, more have come in and joined the group. The number of people has doubled. More pitchers of beer.

Deb: We have twelve more wings left, and that's it. They're quickly ordered and consumed by the ever-growing horde. Every time I step into the kitchen to pick up more food or napkins, I come out to see that more have joined the group.

They've taken over half of the place. There are at least thirty of them. I've found out that they're from the Air Force and in town for a training class at the airport. No wonder they all remind me of my brother and his Academy buddies.

Before long, Deb is backed up in the kitchen as it's extremely hard for one person in a small kitchen to keep up with a sudden onslaught of hungry mid-twenties guys. They cheer when I bring food and are broken hearted when I announce that there are no more wings to be had in the place. The good news is that they're all polite, friendly, and easy to please, so it was an adventure rather than a nightmare.

Gradually, they headed off to their next destination and we played the splitting checks game. Good times. On average the tips were good, or even really good, and they were nice. So, a little crazy, but not bad.

And then, of course, they're followed by the following table:
Guy sits down by the ATM. As I walk over, I see that the guy's line of sight is aimed at my chest. Classy. He orders two drinks and is soon joined by his wife/girlfriend. They are, in turn, joined by two other couples. One of the gals is a lemondrop martini drinker, which usually means annoying. Luckily, nothing too bad from this crowd. The first guy, distracted by his companions, stops staring at my chest. I bring over a lemondrop for the one gal and a glass of water for staring-guy's wife.
Lemondrop, to SGW: Didn't you want lemon with your water?
SGW: Yeah, but I didn't ask for it because I didn't want to be annoying.
I like how I was obviously within earshot and how she acted like I wasn't. I have no patience for subtlety. I ignored the hint. Chickie went without lemon for her water.

-Side note: what gives with the lemon thing? I mean, really. Give me a break. It seems the only people who really want lemon (or lime, for those who are really feeling special) with their water are the pains-in-the-ass.

Later on in the evening we had an unusual guest. While we're kind of used to having the occasional dog in the bar, this was the first time I can remember the dog being anything other than someone's pet. Other than that, the guy was pretty standard-issue guest. No craziness at all, and his dog was excellently behaved. Quite a cute yellow lab, too, with an extra short nose.

So, in closing, here's the latest bar joke, this time not from Donny, but Korea:

An old lady goes to the doctor and says, "Doctor, I've been having all this gas, but my farts don't make any noise and they don't stink."

The doctor writes her a prescription and tells her to come back in two weeks.

In two weeks, she comes back. "Oh, doctor, I've been taking the pills and I still have gas. My farts are still silent, but now they smell terrible."

The doctor nods and says, "Ok, now that we've cleared up your sinuses, let's see what we can do about your hearing."

Some Music/Road Trip Supplies

I'm getting ready to head off on a brief out-of-town adventure and, among other things, I'm planning what I need to bring along by way of music. I'm on a music kick lately, stocking up on some of my favorites, and thought I'd share a little.

I've filled in my Flogging Molly collection and now am up to date on all their albums (save the live one because I'm not much of a live album fan). No particular favorites here, I'm really partial to all of them.

I've got two Dropkick Murphy albums now (would've been three without the robbery) and between them, I find myself liking The Warrior's Code best.

As part of a trial for one of those music subscription-y things, I've acquired Reckless Kelly's The Day which brings my count for them up to two albums. I love their sound and their lead singer's voice. I need to work on developing my Reckless Kelly presence in my CD collection.

Also as part of the trial, I nabbed Cowboy Mouth's Voodoo Shoppe, Uh-Oh, and It Means Escape. They're a beautiful, crazy band who I had never even known existed until a friend lent me one of their albums. I have been listening to these CDs in my car for four days solid.

I still need to get Big Kenny's Live a Little and I'm hoping I can find a copy in time at the music store in town. The guy's a little odd, but in a beautiful way.

There's all this talk about the impact of things like internet radio on CD sales and I've got to say that for me at least, Pandora has been a big influence on my recent CD shopping spree. I have these bands I like, but hearing them on Pandora reminds me of how much I like them and how much I'd like to have them in my music collection.

Anyhow, if any of those bands I mentioned are completely foreign to you, click on the link and listen to some of the Amazon sample clips and/or check them out on one of the various internet radio sites. They're cool, you'll like 'em :)

The Magic Words

I just got off the phone with my mom. We were talking about my house for a bit.

Mom: Did your dad say anything to you about a dog?
Me: No. I mentioned it the other day, but he didn't really say anything about it.
Mom: Well, when we were talking about it, he said he'd be okay with a dog.
Me: Really? Awesome.

So, ladies and germs, it just got exceptionally more likely that I'll get a dog this summer. Winning over my dad to the idea was the biggest step, and now that he's no longer stringently opposed... One obstacle remains: The fence in my backyard is anything but dog-proof and will need repair or replacement (probably that second one) before it's ready for a critter. So, now that my dad's open to the idea of me getting a creature, I've just got to get him around to the idea of a new fence. Hrm...

Still, a fence is easy in comparison. Especially if I offer to help with the cost/labor.

Stepping Stones and After the Bar?

Transition periods have a tendency of making me restless. This week is the last week before summer break. Thus, I'm restless tonight. And tired. Not the most ideal of combinations. I feel like there's something I ought to be working on - other than my big class paper (which I'm not focused enough to work on right now anyway) - but I'm at a loss for what, in particular.

During dinner with friends tonight, I was asked the question of what I'll talk about here once I'm done waitressing in August. What would have the same kind of tone and comedic potential? I'm steering clear of teaching topics, because I can only poke so much fun at myself and I'm not going to talk about my students. That can only end badly. I've run out of steam on movie reviews - so hard to stay creative when it's all just more "I liked it" or "I didn't."

I've gotten personal in the past, but I don't know that I want to go back to that. Yeah, blogging is the new confessional and all of that, yet I'm not feeling particularly compelled to go in that direction.

Transitions... Going from one place to another. The foot is mid-air, headed for the next rock across the stream.

Can we always be our own compass, or do we sometimes need others to help point the way?

Tonight is a night for questions.

I can say that I'm in a better place now than I was in November. I've been saying "no" more often and in the past week or so I've taken a new risk which is spreading its own ripples. A couple of days ago I bought a new CD, Cracked Rear View by Hootie and the Blowfish. It's much more of a mainstream album than what I usually shell out cash for, but it's fitting really well right now.

I can say that my priorities have shifted. Notable: I've gone through the entire semester (practically) without once getting sick, despite the nasty flu that was going around and hit at least three students in my comp. class hard. As good an indication as any that I'm doing better on balancing myself out.

Tonight I'm thinking of ways of communicating, relationships, uncertainty, fear, the skunk under my porch, popcorn, Celtic music, things that are funny about people, sighs, meteor showers, that time of night when all the lights are out and you're in bed getting ready to fall asleep, the color blue, movies, conversations, eye contact, smiles, things that grow, and next week.

So on a closing note: People underrate the importance of humor. They oughtn't.

Car Shopping

A friend of mine is in the market for a car because in about a month, she'll be a junior and allowed to have one. Since she knows I like cars, and spent a lot of time restoring one with my dad, she asked for my opinion on a few cars she was considering. One thing led to another, and I ended up going car shopping with her yesterday. For the most part, it wasn't that eventful. We stopped by a private owner's house and checked out a car that suited her pretty well, was in great shape, and had a pretty good price.

We still thought it was a good idea to keep looking around in case we could find a little better deal. We stopped by a no-haggle lot and checked out something that wasn't as good. The did have a pretty nice 1974 Z-28 Camaro that I became infatuated with, but I'm not in the market for a $14,000 muscle car that's drag-strip ready. It had a beautiful custom paint job, high performance engine, and big back tires. I thought about asking to test drive it, but the guys at the dealership were nice and I didn't want to waste their time when I wasn't even considering buying it.

After we left that dealership, we wandered on to another and checked out a few cars they had to offer. None of them were what my friend was looking for, but I found a little 1990 Mustang 5.0 GT convertible in decent shape. Sticker price: $5,000 Book value: $1,700. I find myself wanting to buy it, play with it, and see if I could turn it around for a profit. That'd only work if I could buy it reasonably though... Anyway, we didn't find a car like my friend wanted so we moved on down the road until we found another dealership and wandered in.

This dealership felt a little more like the cliche. Sure the guy was nice, but the whole deal started to feel sleazy, and I noticed a lot of the sneaky car-salesman tactics that I've read about. The guy we talked to mainly tried to get to know us, and introduced us to his boss/manager (I'm guessing). Boss/manager guy was friendly and when he saw my old car, we got to chatting about classics a little bit. When my friend said that one of her requirements was a leather interior, B/M guy said "I'm, the same way. I don't usually tell people that but...."

That was the point when I started to notice the sleaze factor of this place. This guy was definitely distorting the truth and trying to build the image of a close relationship. Why would he share something that he "usually doesn't tell people" with two folks he's known for 30 seconds? We test drove one car that was in poor shape, and then moved on to a little nicer one. To start, they kept us waiting while they tried to find the keys for the first car and tried to track down the second car. Apparently keeping the customer waiting is another salesman tactic, and I have a hard time believing that they just lost an entire car.

It didn't seem too underhanded until we ended up at the negotiation table. That's when our salesman pulled out the "four square" sheet. He also said "So if we can work out an agreeable number, have we earned your business today?" I had read about this "four square" sheet and knew that the idea of this paper was to bombard you with numbers, confuse you, and try to knock you off guard. Asking if they would "earn your business" was their way of trying to make you feel committed.

As expected, our sales-guy walked into the B/M guy's office to get a price, and came back with a ridiculously high number. He had already asked what my friend's price range was, and she had told him under $10,000. The price he came back with: $12,635. Detailed out to the last digit so it didn't look made up, above book value, and out of her stated range. The whole situation mirrored exactly an article I had read about car guy tactics. Apparently the first number is supposed to be insultingly high so that every offer after that seems more reasonable by comparison.

When we shot that first number down, we also told him about another car my friend had found on craigslist. Same year, make, and model with a few more miles for $8500. We told the guy this and he came back with B/M guy.
B/M guy: "I just realized that there's a different way we can sell this. Since it just arrived, we can just run it through our inspection, get it detailed and you could buy it for $8,500 plus dealer fees."
It was funny how all of a sudden, the absolute lowest they could go was the same price of a comparable vehicle. The other vehicle though was in significantly better shape, so it still didn't seem like a good deal. All the while, they're writing the prices they throw out there in big numbers across the foursquare sheet and scribbling out the old prices. Within two trips to the office, the sheet is covered in scribbles, folded, and still has numbers that we both know are too high. The sales guy and B/M guy keep asking my friend to initial next to the numbers agreeing to buy if they can reach an agreeable price.

She was hesitant to do that, but I let her know that even if she signed in blood, it wouldn't be legally binding. After jockeying like this for maybe a half hour or 45 minutes, we both got tired of the sleaze. We figured that she had already found a car she'd be happy with, in good shape, for a good price, so we didn't need to deal with this b.s. It was weird walking out of the dealership because we both felt dirty for the next hour just at having dealt with that crap.

It was just interesting to see all these sleazy sales tactics in action after I had read about them and could see through them. So if you're ever going to buy a car, I'd suggest looking through some articles on the internet about dealing with car salesmen, doing your research, and bringing someone with you.

The Tallest, Curses, and Cabo Wabo

We have come to the conclusion that both Laura and I are cursed. My curse: when I work happy hour on Fridays, happy hour is very slow. Her curse: water-loving-people.

When I walk into the bar at four, there are two people. One is Julia, the other is Deb. The staff to customer ration is 3:0. Over the next forty five minutes this changes to 3:1 when one guy comes in and sits at the bar. I park on a bar stool and get myself ready for yet another one of those nights.

It starts picking up around five-thirty, which is the same time I see some familiar faces come through the door. My parents' next-door neighbors are two of the nicest people in the world, and his sister's visiting, so they're showing her the town. Since it's getting busy, I don't end up having a lot of time to chat with them, but I do manage to steal a few minutes. I also buy them a spinach and artichoke dip appetizer, which is my favorite. Lots of smiles for that one. You know how sometimes you just have that table that puts you in a better mood? They were that table.

By the time my parents' neighbors have left, Laura's arrived. It doesn't take her curse long to kick in. She goes over to her second table of the night and comes back with one of those looks on her face.
Laura: She's having water. He's having a Coke. They don't even know if they're going to eat.
Thus far, I have not had anyone drinking water (not that I've had much of anyone anyway, though). Later, the man orders a sandwich, the woman has nothing.
Laura: Wow, water and no food. She's a fun date.
Well, apparently the guy didn't mind as I later noticed them doing some quiet face sucking.

Since we were a little short handed, bartender-wise, Alex came in to help out by bar backing. Or, as Julia put it, being her bitch. Since Alex is a tall guy and I am not, and since the bar stools have horizontal bars perfect for standing on, I put two near each other and stepped up so I had a foot on the lowest bar of each. At about this time, K.C. passes by. He walks over, looks at what I'm doing.
K.C.: I don't think so.
He reaches up to the top of his head, looks at the top of mine, and adds: I'm still taller than you.
Me: Get back to the front door where you belong.
He laughs and head back to his post.

I continue chatting with Alex for a bit and glance toward the front where I have a clear line of sight of the front door, and K.C. who's got a few stools of his own up there and is now perched on them just as I am on mine. He grins. I do my best to shoot him a dirty look from all the way across the place. He laughs. I climb down off the stools, accepting my defeat.

About this time there are four tables in the whole place. It's nine-thirty on a Friday night. Pitiful. By a quarter after ten, I've closed out my one table, closed out my bank, etc. and I'm headed for my car. It's started to pick up just a bit, and the owners have all arrived and I didn't clear my leaving with them, but I'm out the door and I just keep walking.

This morning, I pull my phone out of my bag from last night and notice a missed call. From the bar. My first thought: this can't be good. The time is 11:47 p.m. Also not a good sign. All I can think of is that it's one of the owners calling to say they were not happy by my ducking out. I'm a little worried. Despite the fact that my days at the bar are numbered, I don't want to be thought of as a slacker or unreliable.

I push the button to hear the message.
Julia: Hey, you need to come in tomorrow. (pause, laughter)Just kidding. We emptied the Cabo Wabo bottle you wanted and I saved it for you.

Ah, no problem then.

It's a good thing it's almost summer break as my collection of empty bottles from the bar has begun to make it seem like I am a drunk. I need to get back to my making tequila bottles into jewelry project before I start having to answer questions.

New Security System

My folks/landlords have returned to town and are currently working out how to make my house more burglar-proof.

I woke up early this morning, and so stopped by my parents' house on my way to campus and chatted with my mom for a bit. When we got to talking about my new security system, she told me how they were shopping around to see what would work. They went to a shop (or wherever it is that you get burglar alarms) and were talking to the guy about different systems. At one point, the guy said to my dad, "Why don't you just do it the easy way and get a dog?"

Thus, my evil plan of canine acquisition has taken one more step forward. Mom and I have already agreed on a two-pronged attack plan for exploiting the above comment with the intention of swaying my dad in favor of a four-legged security system.

*Does the Montgomery Burns hand thing* Excellent.

RT v.19

Ribeye's now got the 19th Round Table up. Check it out.

Cashey Money

Before I head off to the airport to collect my parents, I thought I'd share this article. What does the organization of your wallet say about your finances overall? It's funny to think about.

Since servers handle cash constantly, and constantly make change, it pays to have your moolah organized. So, is it an organized finances thing, or a server thing? They should add a note about that in the article :)

Break Downs

Currently I'm working on coordinating various things with people. For one of them, I just had an interesting e-mail exchange. The paraphrase goes as follows:

Me: This is to confirm our meeting at X on Y.
Them: No, that date doesn't work. We can only meet at X on Z.
Me: Um...
(Quick review of previous e-mail from this person. Copy. Paste.)
Has something changed since you sent me this previous e-mail which says:
"Yeah, X on Y works."

Beats me what's going on there, save that this person perhaps did not check their date book as closely as they think they did.

Earlier this morning, I responded to another e-mail on another project.
Person: Hey, what's this thing on the thing? And why is this thing this way and not that?
Me: That thing is the shipping cost. The other thing is that way and not the other because the other thing was the initial estimate vs. the revised one, which I gave you a copy of the other day and told you it was the revised one.

Wall. Head. Smack. Repeat as necessary.

Nothing Particularly Interesting

Last night was a super-average night. For the most part it was neither especially busy nor especially slow. The customers were generally average, no one was particularly delightful nor particularly terrible. Etc. etc. A hugely uneventful night.

I did get ditched by Julia, though. She opened, so she went home at nine, leaving me with my least-favorite bartender for the next five hours. That was not so fun. Said bartender is very difficult to work the floor with. For instance - any and all drink orders from a cocktail waitress are at the very bottom of her priority list and she often stops in the middle of a drink order to walk over and have a brief chat with one of her customers. She's also in the habit of being bossy and "accidentally" tossing tickets away before making drinks, resulting in me having to say, "So, about those drinks I ordered..." But, enough whinging about her. The times when it's just her and me are few and far between, so at least I can be glad of that.

Other than my bartender-frustration, most all I can say for the night is that it was long. This two o'clock in the morning stuff is really taking its toll on me right now. The semester needs to hurry up and be over already.

Fate and The Schizophrenic Table

Now that all the burglary excitement has worn off, I figure I'd better get caught up on all things bar related. First order of business, Manuel's hosting this week's Roundtable, a.k.a. issue 18.

Second order of business - bar news from that fateful night.

I got in at four, had a slow, slow happy hour. Laura got in at six and it stayed slow, slow for the next few hours. It proved to be another one of those nights when my co-worker and I are mistaken for being the same person.

Older gal at Laura's table (waving at me): I think we will have some popcorn after all.
Me: I'm so excited for you, but why are you telling me?

It was so slow, it caused me physical pain. A table here, a table there, everyone was drinking slowly and there weren't many people in the place to begin with. I tell Laura, "So, if this keeps up, I'm thinking I'll duck out at ten."

A couple more tables wander in. Two come in a the same time: one is a handful of people in scrubs, the other is Rob and Melissa. Laura and I briefly confer.
Laura: Why don't you take the scrubs and I'll take Rob and Melissa since they usually stay a while?
Me: Sounds like a plan.

I mosey on over to the table and they're hungry. It's 5 min. until the kitchen closes, so I tell them I can squeeze them in as long as they order right away. They confer briefly about the friend who's on her way, then do a couple of appetizers and order drinks. One gal orders a double Bacardi Coke, tall.

By the time I get the appetizers out, they're ready for another round. Another double Bacardi Coke, tall. A bit later, rum & coke gal orders another. At this point, she's downed two doubles in roughly forty minutes. I debate with myself.
Me: That's a lot of liquor.
Myself: Yeah, I know. I don't want to cut her off, though. Hrm...
Me: What about make it a regular Bacardi Coke tall? No double.
Myself: You think she'll notice?
Me: Probably not, and it's not like you'd be charging her for the non-existent shot.
Myself: Sounds like a plan.
I ring up a Bacardi Coke tall, no double shot. I mention what I'm doing to Brandi. She finds it highly amusing.
I bring the round over, including the diluted RC. When I check back later, RC gal says nothing. She hasn't noticed.

Meanwhile, the friend arrives. She sits down and demands a menu. Her friends inform her that the kitchen's closed. She's adamant that it isn't. Yup, she's that kind. After I regretfully inform her that there are no more sandwiches to be had, she demands popcorn and a Jack Daniels on the rocks. I bring them. A short time later, she demands more popcorn, having wolfed down what I'd brought. Another basket of popcorn later, she tells me I should bring two baskets, one for each end of the table. I pick the biggest baskets I can find and load them to the brim.

RC gal has another. Brandi tells me I should give her a straight Coke this time. Since I don't hate the table (or RC gal) I decline. Brandi is very disappointed.

A couple hours later and Rob and Melissa have gone home. My table has not. Demanding woman informs me that she needs her tab. Right now. $10, she leaves $1. How nice. The remainder of my table stays. Two new people join them.

By last call, a couple of people are still at my table. One who isn't is a woman who still owes me $10.50 for her beers. Very cool gal says, "I guess put it on my tab" and leaves me %20 on the total.

On the whole, a hit-and-miss table. Typically, I would've liked them okay, except that they stayed forever and all I wanted to do was go home and fall asleep. I did get a backrub, though, while waiting for last call. That was a high point for the night.

I can't help but wonder, in the grand scheme of things, whether the table's extended stay was an even greater harm than it would seem, or a particularly lucky stroke. I have no way of knowing when my house was broken into, so I can't help but ask a couple of questions. If I'd gotten home at ten o'clock, would my house still have gotten broken into? Did the table's lingering cost me a stereo? Or, did it save me from a violent encounter with the burglar?

Is There a Connection?

Last night at 11:30 there was a commotion outside my house - specifically, in front of the house of my [meth addicted] next door neighbor. There were about six people having a very heated discussion for a good twenty minutes. While I couldn't make out most of what was said, I did hear something about a white Toyota truck which was gone. A little before midnight, a squad car pulls up and one of the gathered people has a conversation with an officer.

This morning, a couple of minutes ago, I hear knocking on my door. Typically, I don't answer my door when I'm not specifically expecting someone. This is to avoid people who are trying to sell me stuff or trying to get me to go to their church. Today, however, given this weekend's special circumstances, I broke policy.

I open my door to find a neighbor I don't recognize. He's the owner of last night's truck. As it turns out, he let the meth addict borrow it yesterday and the guy left him in his house (i.e. next door) and never returned. The neighbor somehow didn't get the addict's name (why you'd lend your truck to someone without knowing their name is baffling to me) and was asking if I knew anything about the guy. I wrote down his name and wished my neighbor luck in the return of his truck.

Neighbor: I don't know if maybe he's in jail or something. Then I'd know where to go get my truck. Now I can call and ask if he's there.

Maybe, if he is, that means I get my CDs back.