Thursday, September 22, 2005

Who was that caped server?!

There's a plethora of new phrases in my vocabulary that are now entirely over-used. They comprise my Lexicon of Serving. These include such classics as "Can I start you guys off with something to drink?" and "Do you need a few more minutes with the menu?". Oh, and don't forget "How's your (insert whatever your guest ordered here) tasting?". There are some other less classic phrases, but they're really situational, so you might hear them in a story or something of the like. I've worked between 9 and 10 hours days Sunday to Wednesday at Boston Pizza. This isn't including the hours I've worked at my other-and more important-job and the fact that I'm still managing to have a life.

I feel a little like Super Woman, only my life isn't a cartoon...although a cape would be pretty cool. I could make really dramatic entrances and exits. People in my path would cry out "Who was that caped server?!". I bet that's where the big tips are...servers with capes. Tonight was exceptional for tips. I didn't have a cape but at one point I jokingly pretended to hit a guest over the head with my tray and later warned him that I'd have to take away his knife and he, his pregnant wife, and the other couple they were with really liked that. They were a lot of fun.

For the most part my co-workers are decent too. Except for the 1 that has quit and the 2 that have been fired. There are a handfull of co-workers that when I know we're working together, I know good times are to be had, and there's at least one on every shift I work so I've had a lot of good times so far. Don't get me wrong: there are some crabby guests out there, we've all seen them. Like that table of 8 I had Sunday night when nothing I did could please them. Some people just come in crazy-grouchy at the world and there's not a whole lot that can be done about that. I try my hardest to show them some kindness and grace and-trust me-it's never easy. But most of the time, after I serve them, I like to think that maybe they're a little less crazy-grouchy at the world and it's because I've extended just a small portion of the kindness and grace that's been undeservedly extended to me. I mean, how often do people leave an establishment and say "Man, that server was just way too nice!" Friends, the answer is: not often. But during the crazy-grouchy-at-world-folks it's the co-workers that can lend a little sanity to the situation because we all know that guest could be the next one sat in our section.

If you're looking for pizza, pasta, or something inbetween, my name is Lindsey and I'll be your server tonight...

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Ode to the Hill

Recently I was shocked to find a childhood monument of mine had vanished. In it's place stands a stone retaining wall topped off by a chainlink fence. Pretty nice, if you're into that whole "the hill of my childhood has been annihiliated from the face of the earth" look. It came in stages, yet I was still shocked and chagrined.

My old stomping ground, Riverside Elementary School, lies at the top of my street and just across the road. I admit that, more times than I can count, I snuck off school property, ducking under the space between the chainlink fence and the slight slope leading into the all-weather field, looked both ways for traffic, darted across the road and down the street to freedom: my house. Ahh, those were the days, grades 2 through 7. I remember the first time I stood up for myself against a superior. It took place during grade 6, in a portable directly across from that daunting hill. But that time I did not duck under that chainlink fence. No, in all my twelve year old glory, I glanced over my shoulder one last time at that hill and confidently strode across the crosswalk and to my house.

Considering the proximity of my house to my old elementary school I should have figured it out sooner. The mighty cedar trees that crowned the grandeur that was the hill were removed first. The very cedar trees that Deidra Claypool, our elementary (and high school) bully, chased me around as she tried to catch me in order to pummel me. But as I was able to duck and weave in and out of those girthy trees, she never had the chance. Next, the bulldozers and backhoes came in. The same sort that broke the ground for the playground our PTA had fundraised for and my parents hands had helped put in. I left for a few days, leaving the hill in it's illustriousness, and I come home to find that the flat area leading away from the basketball court has been extended all the way to the edge of the property line, ending at a stone retaining wall. There was a bit of an ache in my chest.

It is the end of an era. Farewell to the "weddings" that have taken place atop the hill, the friendship bracelets made over lunch hours. Adieu to the pacts made and secrets told. Goodbye to sliding down the hill on crazy carpets and saucers at the very first flake of falling snow. This is a valediction to days when childhood was a simpler time, when our playgrounds were made out of metal that was not coated in plastic, when we worried about beating the boys not wearing clothes to attract them, when teachers could freely give hugs when we fell without worry of ramifications. When the only things that had any chance of blowing up were army men and G.I. Joe's the boys were playing with, the only thing that had a chance of catching fire were your pants if you lied. The days of that kind of youth are, unfortunately, bygone days. But at least the memories of days gone by can bring to mind that youthful feeling we sometimes long for in the midst of this beyond grown-up world. Last one up the hill is a rotten egg!

Monday, September 05, 2005

Something about Dave...finally

So, as the story goes, I typed up a great big blog all about my DMB weekend in Washington and then I went to save the draft and my task bar said "not responding" and thus was lost my post and I haven't had the drive to try again until now. I'll try to pick one notable story from each day and that should give you a flavor for the kind of gong show that ensued throughout the weekend but was still magical all due to DMB.

Friday night: After finding Starbucks to fortify our waking hours, we-Heather, Amelia, and me-stopped in at a gas station in Everett and inquired about a place to camp. We spent 15-20 minutes in the gas station trying to find a place to tent and talking to the attendant, each minute growing far more weirder than the previous-ask me about it sometime, it's worth it. We found this camping spot, rolled in about 10:30 or 11pm and set up our tent. Let me just tell you now that tenting in other countries is not like it is in Canada. If I tripped and fell I would have taken out one of the tents next to us. Just think of 9 tents piled into an average backyard, only part of it was a playground. I was starting to get very excited about DMB and I was saying things I probably should have said a lot quieter for it being 1am-ish and judging the proximity of fellow campers which warranted a woman to open her trailer door (not even a tent) and yell "Quiet!" followed by her slamming the door. I then made a request to my travelling companions that we leave early in the morning as not to meet that woman. They obliged.

Saturday: Pike Place Market and the Experience Music Project in Seattle. I got a few super great finds at Pike Place including a pair of vintage cateye glasses, a Beatles collector mug, and a copy of John Milton's Paradise Lost. And I totally recommend EMP. We then made our way down to the Vantage Riverside Resort where we'd be staying for the next 2 nights. That night we drove to the Gorge and got a little preview of DMB. And that night we also camped on a hill. And that night at about 11pm our formerly quiet-ish campsite turned into a drunken camping version of Electric Circus (that dancing show on channel 29 that's on the weekends). So we attempted to go to bed around 2am. Amelia told Heather and I to "suck it up" as far as sleeping on the hill went...she wasn't sleeping on the hill. I'm all for sucking it up, especially when camping because, hey, I'm camping! But the hill proved to be beyond just sucking it up. In the morning Heather and I compared stories of how every half-hour to an hour we would be woken up and then have to push all our bedding and everything we were sleeping on back up the hill and then crawl back up to bed because we had slid to the bottom of the tent. We moved our tent to a plateau that had opened up Sunday morning.

Sunday: We swam in the Columbia River, I cliff jumped for the first time, we made some rad guacamole. And we got to see DMB!!! We met up with Jordan, Melissa, and Kevin at the concert and after they invited us to come hang out at their campsite until the traffic cleared. Little did we know the havic that was ensuing back at Vantage Riverside Resort. Jordan, Melissa, and Kevin had to go in search of food so we headed out back to our camping spot. As we pulled into the campground a tumble weed rolled across the path of the van. I'm serious. Folks, I could not make this up. Then the van headlights hit the spot where our tent and such was suppose to be. I mused aloud "Where's the tent? And our chairs?". That was met by "Shut up!", "No way!" and "You've got to be kidding me!". When we pulled right up it turned out that our tent had been flattened by the chinook-type winds that were raging and some kind soul had folded up our chairs and placed them on top of our tent to keep the Columbia River from claiming everything we owned. We attempted to upright the tent so we could still sleep there but the tent ended up turning up on an end into a bullet-type shape, aiming right for the Columbia River as the three of us struggled to hold on. The campsite told us they'd give us a refund if we left so we packed up by the warm glow of a head lamp and interior light of the van. We were on the road at 1:50am and drove straight through to home, except for the couple hours of sleep we grabbed at a rest stop.

For the sake of space I won't comment much more about this trip although there's so much more I could say. Hopefully you have some sort of incling about the fact that this trip-in all it's surreal glory-was a certified gong show. But at least I saw Dave.