pros and cons of working in the fine dining industry (and the first post about my new job):

pro: getting slipped a $20 when seating a gentleman and his gf … probably interacted with him for a total of 60 seconds.

con: getting taxed on your tips out the wazzu when you don’t get tipped out in cash.

pro: nibbling on free $30 Angus burgers at the end of a long shift. lovely new co-workers included.

con: getting reprimanded for not angling the bathroom doors correctly. kill me.

pro: trying out new wines, desserts, and cocktails… tre magnific.

con: hanging out in a place where you will probably never care to afford.

pro: watching the sun set over the ocean on a gorgeous patio.

con: staring at a hostess computer screen for hours.

pro: kitchen tacos and empanadas by Diego… the hotttt Anglo-Peruvian chef.

con: replacing dozens of little lithium batteries in fake tea-lights.

pro: having a tasting session of our super-adorable dessert chef Myouki’s Santa Yzez Organic Orange Blossom Honey Ice Cream.

con: waaay too many animal products. we serve foie gras … that’s force-fed goose liver. i think it’s going to be illegal in California this summer.

pro: surrounded by beautiful sandstone, flowers, and antiques.

con: surrounded by the cheeziest frank sinatra and co. songs i’ve ever heard in my life.

pro: having a job.

con: having a legitimate nightmare about customers coming in right before closing…

and drinking $400 wine while we all wait for them to finish….

conclusion: two weeks notice. 

gonna miss ya. 

a kid at the store

gets 50 cents to buy candy. my three brothers and i got fifty cents… combined. of course, a gaggle of children heads to the bulk isle (which we interpreted to be the buffet isle). we would fill a small bag with an assortment of gummy candy, mostly gummy worms, gummy bears, and sour patch kids.

together, we would return to the car treasure in hand. after snagging a handful of gummies, my brothers and i would do a strange thing… “kill” our candy before consuming. gummy worms would get a few good cracks to the head on the dashboard before their heads were ripped off. gummy bears got a fast front-tooth guillotine. for sour patch kids, their appendages were masticated before the body was popped into one’s mouth.

odd, that a quick and brutal death befell the beneficiaries of our pity. i still find myself trying to find the front end of the gummy worm before taking my first bite.

hello world

The art of writing is the art of discovering what you believe.

 

– Gustave Flaubert

soj stories

since moving back to SB, i’ve been picking up a few extra shifts at the Soj. this week, i worked an incredibly hectic lunch shift, the house packed with peeps trying to get a salad in about three minutes.

one of our customers claimed he was “pissed” that his lunch had not arrived yet, and in a demanding voice, told me “i’ve been coming here for 30 years and i expect my food immediately.” thanks dude. 

at the commencement of his meal, this “regular” tried to pay his bill with a credit card we have never accepted.

no AmEx, man. and smile for that delicious Dahl… 

 

at the post office

i saved a woman from an egregious line by selling her two of the stamps in my wallet.

she handed me $1.00,

and then asked for change.

come. on. people.

10 cents.

 

this holiday season

I spent the majority of my time on Whidbey Island, where I was born and raised. The night before every holiday, all the Winter-Break-Returnees flock to (or begrudgingly attend) a gathering at China City (i.e. Kinda Shitty), the local semi-Asian-dive-bar-fusion. With intoxication levels ranging from tipsy to trashed, it’s like a fluttering combination of ten high school reunions. Mostly, it’s an entertaining event: spiced up by random romantic pairings, outrageous anecdotes, and a dance party to Top 40 hits from about six years ago (think “Got Low” (“Window to the Wall”) three times). Unfortunately, I forgot the names of three people who came to give me hugs, while another girl, who I thought despised me in High School, confronted me in the Ladies room and told me I had always been her role model. Bizarre moments.

The next night I had drinks at Mo’s Pub & Eatery with a group of close High School friends… the kind that tell me they love me when we hug, even when I haven’t seen them for a year. We ended up spending a couple hours reminiscing — gathering details on what our childhood acquaintances had been up to for the last few years. The paths are endless: pregnancies, jail time, gay porn, marriage, and multiple children. Into our third round of Pacific Northwest IPAs, these stories began to have a strikingly somber tone. Life changes quickly, drastically, and without hesitation.

Later that night, in the library of my godmother’s house, there was a photo of her son and I in as first graders — the first year we met. 

 

I look upon these young faces, still in our single digits, and am marveled by the unsuspecting pain laden in our future years. From the shallow knowledge I have of all these people in their current state, I know that three have lost siblings, two are single mothers, one lost his hand in an accident, another was addicted to methamphetamines, two lost parents, two had parents with terminal illnesses, and both our teacher and her husband have battled cancer.

Sometimes, in sad moments, I see life as a place where no kind of helmet can protect us. Yet, I see that smile of my six-year-old self and I know it is more me than anything else. Six years old: when my mother had not yet been diagnosed, when all my siblings were home, when the farm was full and fertile, when I found the friends that still say I love you. 

one downfall of living in a house of 7 girls…

they’re watching The Notebook for the second night in a row.

everything else, however, is pretty glorious.