Oh, so THIS is what it means to be a waitress.

The bar/restaurant that I work for just started making the night I work karaoke night. Of all the people that work there, I am the only one who had something nice to say about it. That's putting it lightly. I was ecstatic. What greater excuse is there to go to karaoke every week? How cool is it to be the hidden talent of the waitstaff? How much more likely is it that I can drag people to visit me at work?

The guy was taking song requests, too, for when nobody else wanted to sing. I asked him to play "Hello Mary Lou" by Ricky Nelson, and I think he didn't know whether to shit or go blind. And, in his book, he had my signature karaoke song: "Hey Jealousy" by the Gin Blossoms. My kickball bar and my regular karaoke bar don't, so this was thrilling.

By the end of the night...
I made more money than I did during the NBA playoffs.
My boss kissed me. Twice.*
A customer asked me to be in his band.**

All this time I've been sitting at the hostess desk, eating nachos and reading books. THIS is what waitressing, as I always imagined it, anyway, is all about!

* I could do without this.
** Pretty cool, actually. As his band is not of the Gin Blossoms cover variety, I think he will soon see that he doesn't want me in his band.

Back from Paris, and busy again.

I thought I would be less busy when I came home, having been certified to teach English as a foreign language (read: I have my Saturdays back!!). Not so! I'm up to something new! A few somethings, actually.

Remember when I was interviewed by one of my best friends for her MenuPages blog? I'll be writing the odd entry there now - about nine a week, in fact. So check me out there.

I'm looking for any English or French tutoring I can get my grubby paws on. Suggestions? Let me know.

In particular, I need to go back to France without delay. Preferably on a closer to permanent level. Anyone know of a school in France that would help a nice and funny American girl get her EU working papers? Let me know sooner.

Deliverance

I'm calling in an order to a publishing company in Virginia, and the hold music is "Dueling Banjos".

I'm worried that this might set the tone of the day.

I'm also worried that they don't realize how funny that is.

A note I made at work some time ago.

My coworker just reminded me of a post-it I left for her after spending a day placing publisher orders. On this particular occasion I had been placing an order with Perseus Distrubution for a book on prejudice.

My note read like this :

The word was prejudice.
She pronounced it « Pray Judas »
Then she corrected herself,
Pre-Justice.

Antennae don't work in the cellar.

Is there anything more soul-sucking than starting your week at work with only FM TALK to listen to? I'm all about NPR, BBC, whatever - anything but FM Talk.

I complain about our radio at work a lot. We don't get many stations, as we're in the basement. WBOS is okay most of the time because I like some of the music, and even the music I don't like is at least in the right mood for work. Then there's WROR, which I like, mostly because there's a Beatles break at 9 and noon. Oh, and Mambo Time (!) at 5:05. I put up with Toto and "Lady in Red" (hell, I might have even grown to like "Rosanna"). The problem with both those stations is that, with all the music they have in their studios to play around with, they follow a basic schedule throughout the day. So it's like Groundhog Day.*

Another problem we encounter with the few radio stations we get is that there are horrible morning shows, bad enough before you've had your tea, but worse still when replayed in the afternoon. You know, in case you missed it (ahem, WROR and WBCN). Usually my pick is WBCN because nobody ever complains about the music, but it is always changed when Opie and Anthony or whoever are on. Because you know what you don't want to hear when you're shopping for insignia apparel for your kid that you're finally shipping out of your house? Overgrown adolescents. Yelling.

So I'm not sure why we're listening to FM Talk, because it's basically a barrage of half-witted polemics with cutting Boston accents. As if re-entry after a long weekend weren't difficult enough, as if my brain weren't already applesauce, as if I wanted to be here in the first place...

You see where this is going. I'm not much better.


*I like to say a prayer and drink to world peace.

My day is like a seesaw.

I was happy to hear French spoken at Whole Foods, and then elated to summon up enough French in my memory to wish my cashier a good day.

Then there was a dead skunk in the middle of the road, and if you'll pardon the Louden Wainwright III reference, it actually was stinking to high heaven. And it was cute, it was so sad.


And now I'm at work. I feel like I'm being yanked by the scarf.

Best lines from 12.5 hours of work.

It's rush. In college bookstore lingo, that means that classes at Northeastern are starting this week and my life at work is sheer hell. Though not so much this fall, which is eerie and unnatural. I provide you with quotes of the days as they go - these quotes bring me angst as they happen and joy as I reflect on them.

A girl, looking for her Third Year Writing (ENG U301) books, disagrees with one bookseller when he advises she look for them in the English section: Is it English or is it W?

A girl, after my friend Chris helps her find what she is looking for (meant to be statements, both): There is an insect on my hand. Would you please remove it. [NB: Chris is still not entirely sure if this exchange happened, but if it did, he removed the ladybug and flicked it to the floor, then walked away in a medicated fog.]

A girl, to whatever boy she was dragging with her so she wouldn't be talking to herself: Omigod, this books is so tight, you know?
Some other friend starts talking to her, then, and says she would love to see her apartment. In reply, the first girl says: My apartment is sweeeet. [No irony should be implied here. In either case.]

Me, stirring lentil soup at 10:30PM, to the tune of "Hot Cross Buns": I hate my job, I hate my job, one-a-penny, two-a-penny, I hate my job - fuck, I've LOST it.

I'm sorry that I can't include any Northeastern boy quotes. They don't seem to talk so much as grunt and slur.