June 25, 2012
I didn't think that the game needed to go into overtime. The job was definitely winning. The job was kicking my ass, actually. In the fortieth hour, I was serving a party of seven and two parties of three-- all out on the patio. No one called a time out for wind interference. Instead, I played straight through, and ended up with twenty percent tips all around. So maybe I pulled out a come from behind win? Still, the game wasn't over yet, as there was still the matter of the silverware toss...and oh my God, I wish I was better at sports metaphors.
What I'm trying to say is that I worked forty-one hours this week. And I'm probably going to do the same next week. I will have metaphorical (and physical) shin splints by the end of it, but don't worry, I'll just wrap my ice packs in wads of cash. I'll elevate my legs on my stacks of money. I'll dry my sweat on one dollar bills. (Actually, I might want to use twenties for that...I don't know where those single dollars have been.)
Right now, I'm barely above water boy status, but practice makes perfect. And even if I never get awarded MVP, I might just learn how to avoid getting blitzed. That's got to be worth a participation trophy, at the very least.
These dirty plates aren't the only thing that's a hot mess. #servergirlstruggz
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