The lights are on. Hip. Other hip. Sway with the left. Arch the back. Draw the right arm over their head. Pull the object of desire (a finished, thumb print pocked cup) closer with the tips of the fingers teasing the rim of the glass that sits on the table. Smile when they catch my eye.
I am as bright and bubbly as their amber colored beer.
I prance, I swish, I brush my butt on his back. Hit the right bosom across his head.
"Whoops. Sorry!" (Not really.)
Whisper secrets into their ears, a sultry: "What can I get for you?" Then, wait. Hover right by their cheek or squat right down to the floor and look up at them from their knees. Implore them with a smile and sometimes a wink: "Is that all?"
Swish back up the aisle. Butt brush again. Hip bounces off their shoulders. All of their heads are right at eye level with my chest.
I pile my tray with drinks, steaming with perspiration, dripping sweat down the sides of the glass. Each drink holding a promise I made to them: "I can get that, no problem."
Back out to the tight rope walk, this time holding 15 pounds of beverages above their heads. A small Clink! as the glasses kiss each other as I pass through the sea of chairs and human heads, looking for a place to set down the cold cups.
They watch me as I pass, eyes follow my movements, some faces eagerly checking my hands for an order they made.
The lights go down. It is dark. Candle light is the only way to see, except for the glow of the stage lights that cast shadows on their eye sockets, making it hard to follow their gaze. I keep my gaze on the slippery, wet glasses as I hand out each drink to the darkened faces.
I bite my lip, furrow my brow, my wrist aches from holding the tray, my hand shakes from the strain of being quiet. I must not disturb the show or the trance the music or poetry can hold on the crowd. I must become a ghost, a ninja, quietly passing by once the show begins, only to return in full splendor once the entertainment ends. In the dark I don't have to smile, saving my energy for the lights to come on again.
In the dark, I diminish, the show holds their attention and I can relax; rubbing my sore back and massaging my arms in preparation for the next round of orders and flirts.
Showing posts with label Work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Work. Show all posts
Friday, May 31, 2013
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Handling Loss and Change
Handling loss is part of what makes us all unique. I think every person has a list of several past experiences that have formed them and prepared them for dealing with a major life change, like loss. I wrote about the "emotional self"and how if one were to physicalize that self one would see all the scars and burns and hurts that have been inflicted over the course of a lifetime to make that self look like it does. That body of emotion moves a certain way and reacts a certain way because of those wounds.
Recently I have been dealing with a loss at work. My Work Husband no longer works there and I have been grappling with the anxiety of what that means for me. I feel like the Husband of a family very suddenly and without warning left the house and, as the wife, I am now in charge of informing everyone that the guy left and I don't have answers and I am very upset and I don't know what I will do about it, and yes: times are changing; and yes: we all loved him, etc, etc. Life's unfair: I keep telling myself that. Things will be OK: I also keep telling myself that.
We worked together for 2 years 3-4 days a week, 7-8 hour shifts. That's a lot of time to spend with one person, and the fact that we were able to do so without too much drama or annoyance or complication is, I think, one of the most miraculous things about my life up until this point.
I stared down my fears about him leaving yesterday while on the phone with my career coach. I had guilt about staying at the job, anger, confusion, worry, and dread; all terrible emotions to have to carry and think about before going in to a shift at your day job. My coach was a rock-star. She really helped me level out the "boat" of my life and get me back to solid ground. And now, I am trying to roll with the punches and not live up to the expectation that, I think, some of my co-workers were expecting. I've laid out a couple of scenarios I think many of them might have been expecting.
Scenario #1:
Natalie blasts into the restaurant, hair on fire, shattering the doors of the entrance as she walks in. "WHO IS RESPONSIBLE!?" she booms and all tremble in fear. "I WANT DEATH!" she screams grabbing all responsible and crushing them as she cackles a terrible laugh.
Scenario #2:
Natalie slowly walks into the restaurant, head hung low. She has been crying for what looks like days. She cannot speak. She is inconsolable. She vomits on the floor when asked how she is feeling. She cries every 2 minutes and is finally sent home.
Scenario #3:
Natalie just doesn't give a fuck. Fuck you! Fuck you! Lemme tell you what I think of you! You suck! You suck! You suckity suck suck fuck puck bluck slut!! She throws a bunch of napkins on the floor and spits on them. "I'm now telling you every deep dark secret I have ever felt and then I'm going to shit on those napkins!"She announces to an appalled staff.
I didn't do any of those... Promise.
I will continue as normally as I can, because that's what my emotional self is programed to do, like a life dance, and maybe this whole thing is a "wake-up" and I need to really focus on building my career now, and not be so comfortable in my day job.
Recently I have been dealing with a loss at work. My Work Husband no longer works there and I have been grappling with the anxiety of what that means for me. I feel like the Husband of a family very suddenly and without warning left the house and, as the wife, I am now in charge of informing everyone that the guy left and I don't have answers and I am very upset and I don't know what I will do about it, and yes: times are changing; and yes: we all loved him, etc, etc. Life's unfair: I keep telling myself that. Things will be OK: I also keep telling myself that.
We worked together for 2 years 3-4 days a week, 7-8 hour shifts. That's a lot of time to spend with one person, and the fact that we were able to do so without too much drama or annoyance or complication is, I think, one of the most miraculous things about my life up until this point.
I stared down my fears about him leaving yesterday while on the phone with my career coach. I had guilt about staying at the job, anger, confusion, worry, and dread; all terrible emotions to have to carry and think about before going in to a shift at your day job. My coach was a rock-star. She really helped me level out the "boat" of my life and get me back to solid ground. And now, I am trying to roll with the punches and not live up to the expectation that, I think, some of my co-workers were expecting. I've laid out a couple of scenarios I think many of them might have been expecting.
Scenario #1:
Natalie blasts into the restaurant, hair on fire, shattering the doors of the entrance as she walks in. "WHO IS RESPONSIBLE!?" she booms and all tremble in fear. "I WANT DEATH!" she screams grabbing all responsible and crushing them as she cackles a terrible laugh.
Scenario #2:
Natalie slowly walks into the restaurant, head hung low. She has been crying for what looks like days. She cannot speak. She is inconsolable. She vomits on the floor when asked how she is feeling. She cries every 2 minutes and is finally sent home.
Scenario #3:
Natalie just doesn't give a fuck. Fuck you! Fuck you! Lemme tell you what I think of you! You suck! You suck! You suckity suck suck fuck puck bluck slut!! She throws a bunch of napkins on the floor and spits on them. "I'm now telling you every deep dark secret I have ever felt and then I'm going to shit on those napkins!"She announces to an appalled staff.
I didn't do any of those... Promise.
I will continue as normally as I can, because that's what my emotional self is programed to do, like a life dance, and maybe this whole thing is a "wake-up" and I need to really focus on building my career now, and not be so comfortable in my day job.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Cool Hand Luke
I felt his hand pat my butt. "When you get a chance; could we get the check, sweetheart?" I froze. Get your filthy hand off of my butt!!! My mind screamed. I smiled a weak, passive smile and moved away from him. I heard his drunk wife's shrill voice behind us: "Did he just touch her ass!?" to the other 4 drunken people at the table. I wanted to die. LEAVE. Just, leave right now, please. Get the fuck out, ALL of you!! I tallied their bill and slid it in front of Mr. Cool Hand Luke who was now standing on the opposite side of my bar. "Thanks so much, you did a really great job." He said as he jotted down the total, tipping me an extra 25 bucks on top of the already included gratuity. I took the check back without a word and watched as he joined his group.
I felt like a victim for about 30 seconds; and then I felt really irritated. As much as I tell myself that we live in a world that's moving more toward equality of the genders, the races, the sexual orientations and the classes; I am still reminded that we have a long way to go.
I tried to picture doing anything to a guy that would make them feel like a piece of meat, but all I could think about was maybe patting them on the head and being really patronizing. I felt frustrated. I could raise a stink about this, I could call that guy out, have his wife feel more ashamed and embarrassed than she probably already feels (Hell, she has to go home with that slime-ball at the end of the night...) I could tell my manager what happened and have her throw those people out... I mused over the scenario of all 6 of those loud-mouthed drunks getting tossed out of the restaurant. Eh, not worth all that fuss.
Unfortunately, this is not a new problem. I am a 25 year old waitress in a dark room with a lot of drunk people on the weekends who are out to have a good time. The benefits of being young, pretty and single are certainly fun and plentiful, but the down side is really gross. I'll get texts from older men who want to "see what I'm up to tonight" and cat-calls on the street. Sometimes, all I want to do is throw a burka on in order to avoid the salacious stares and whistles from construction workers. This problem is not only mine, I see it happen to other girls, too. I see girls just trying to get from point A to point B, not wearing anything overly sexual, getting all sorts of nasty comments thrown at them.
To all you you sad, lusty, sexually frustrated, bored, men who feel, I dunno, trapped? And look at me and think I'd be a nice roll in the hay: go fuck yourselves. And then figure out how to get yourself a therapist to get you to a place where you can be happy, balanced, and not feel like you need to take a quick swipe at a girl's butt in order to give you a thrill.
I felt like a victim for about 30 seconds; and then I felt really irritated. As much as I tell myself that we live in a world that's moving more toward equality of the genders, the races, the sexual orientations and the classes; I am still reminded that we have a long way to go.
I tried to picture doing anything to a guy that would make them feel like a piece of meat, but all I could think about was maybe patting them on the head and being really patronizing. I felt frustrated. I could raise a stink about this, I could call that guy out, have his wife feel more ashamed and embarrassed than she probably already feels (Hell, she has to go home with that slime-ball at the end of the night...) I could tell my manager what happened and have her throw those people out... I mused over the scenario of all 6 of those loud-mouthed drunks getting tossed out of the restaurant. Eh, not worth all that fuss.
Unfortunately, this is not a new problem. I am a 25 year old waitress in a dark room with a lot of drunk people on the weekends who are out to have a good time. The benefits of being young, pretty and single are certainly fun and plentiful, but the down side is really gross. I'll get texts from older men who want to "see what I'm up to tonight" and cat-calls on the street. Sometimes, all I want to do is throw a burka on in order to avoid the salacious stares and whistles from construction workers. This problem is not only mine, I see it happen to other girls, too. I see girls just trying to get from point A to point B, not wearing anything overly sexual, getting all sorts of nasty comments thrown at them.
To all you you sad, lusty, sexually frustrated, bored, men who feel, I dunno, trapped? And look at me and think I'd be a nice roll in the hay: go fuck yourselves. And then figure out how to get yourself a therapist to get you to a place where you can be happy, balanced, and not feel like you need to take a quick swipe at a girl's butt in order to give you a thrill.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Growth to the Extreme!
At 8:30am this morning, I was pushed onto the 7 train and squeezed in with hundreds of other New Yorkers like cows in a slaughterhouse. I walked in huge groups of people, all walking the same speed and direction and with the same neutral expression on their faces down long hundred-foot hallways. I watched as hundreds of people moved along the platforms, almost like schools of fish, on their way up the stairs, down the stairs and onto the trains.
I was so glad I wasn't doing this every day just to get to work, I was a temporary visitor just passing through. It's stressful to be in such tight quarters with so many people, but then having to fight your way to the surface just to go to work? Stress-Fest! Every time a train pulled in it was packed so tight with New Yorkers that I couldn't see the inside of the train from the windows. And as I stood in the middle of an especially large group of commuters, I was in the awkward position of not being able to hold on to any poles, so I simply let the sheer amount of bodies surrounding me on every side hold me up as the train lurched and rattled along the track. I even had a full cup of coffee I sipped, but because the trains were so packed I couldn't lower my arm, so I let the coffee cup rest at my chin.
Simply put: Holy Shit the subway system is over crowded. I can't imagine that what I experienced this morning is healthy or safe! Fire hazards? What a joke! There were so many people that, god forbid, if there was something truly wrong the exits would not be enough to handle the stampede of folks! And even the sidewalks of New York are too small to handle the outflow of people from below!
According to the NYC Dept. of City Planning:
"New York City's population increased from 8,175,133 in April of 2010 to 8,244,910 in July of 2011. This is an increase of 69,777 residents or about 0.85 percent over the 2010 mark. The largest change in the city's population occurred in Brooklyn, increasing by almost 28,000 persons or 1.1 percent, followed by Queens, which registered an increase of 17,126 persons or 0.8 percent. Manhattan also showed a substantial increase of 16,075, which translated into a change of 1 percent. "
Woah.
So, as of 2011 almost 70 thousand people moved to New York. Meaning that one could bet there are even more people now. Manhattan Island is not getting any larger, though. So... maybe that can explain why I feel so packed tight.
To keep my mind off of how miserable that commute was I kept imagining wide open spaces and big old-growth trees... Being a guppy in a massive school of fish is no fun, and the city just gets bigger and bigger! 70 thousand people need a place to live, too! And eat! And work! And, according to the Census bureau New York's population has a good 30% of it in 25-35 age range. So, we're young, too. That also explains why I kept catching the eyes of many tired looking, trendy 20 something's also on their way to work, or, you know, unpaid internships.
I think I'll just stick to the off-peak hours so I can stretch out on the seats of the train car and pretend I'm only one of 20 individuals going to work.
I was so glad I wasn't doing this every day just to get to work, I was a temporary visitor just passing through. It's stressful to be in such tight quarters with so many people, but then having to fight your way to the surface just to go to work? Stress-Fest! Every time a train pulled in it was packed so tight with New Yorkers that I couldn't see the inside of the train from the windows. And as I stood in the middle of an especially large group of commuters, I was in the awkward position of not being able to hold on to any poles, so I simply let the sheer amount of bodies surrounding me on every side hold me up as the train lurched and rattled along the track. I even had a full cup of coffee I sipped, but because the trains were so packed I couldn't lower my arm, so I let the coffee cup rest at my chin.
Simply put: Holy Shit the subway system is over crowded. I can't imagine that what I experienced this morning is healthy or safe! Fire hazards? What a joke! There were so many people that, god forbid, if there was something truly wrong the exits would not be enough to handle the stampede of folks! And even the sidewalks of New York are too small to handle the outflow of people from below!
According to the NYC Dept. of City Planning:
"New York City's population increased from 8,175,133 in April of 2010 to 8,244,910 in July of 2011. This is an increase of 69,777 residents or about 0.85 percent over the 2010 mark. The largest change in the city's population occurred in Brooklyn, increasing by almost 28,000 persons or 1.1 percent, followed by Queens, which registered an increase of 17,126 persons or 0.8 percent. Manhattan also showed a substantial increase of 16,075, which translated into a change of 1 percent. "
Woah.
So, as of 2011 almost 70 thousand people moved to New York. Meaning that one could bet there are even more people now. Manhattan Island is not getting any larger, though. So... maybe that can explain why I feel so packed tight.
To keep my mind off of how miserable that commute was I kept imagining wide open spaces and big old-growth trees... Being a guppy in a massive school of fish is no fun, and the city just gets bigger and bigger! 70 thousand people need a place to live, too! And eat! And work! And, according to the Census bureau New York's population has a good 30% of it in 25-35 age range. So, we're young, too. That also explains why I kept catching the eyes of many tired looking, trendy 20 something's also on their way to work, or, you know, unpaid internships.
I think I'll just stick to the off-peak hours so I can stretch out on the seats of the train car and pretend I'm only one of 20 individuals going to work.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
The Holy Kiss
I got caught staring at a large black man clearly enjoying the jazz that was being played at my job last night. He was nodding his head and shutting his eyes and muttering "Damn!"under his breath. At each key change he'd nod his head in affirmation, like he had just taken a swallow of something really yummy. I couldn't stop staring at his utter enjoyment.
He looked over at the bar I was standing behind and caught my eye. I smiled, beckoning him to the bar. I felt I needed to explain myself further. The song ended and the man got up and walked over. I leaned in over the bar toward his face and he leaned in over the bar toward my face. I moved to whisper in his ear and he moved in to kiss me on the cheek. I felt his warm soft lips brush my face and could feel myself blush a deep crimson.
What? Wait. No! That's not why I called you over!! Oh... awkward.
I tried to rescue to the pause after I pulled away from him with a huge smile. "I like to watch people enjoy the music." I whispered as the next song vamped up. "Do you want a beer?" He pointed to an IPA and I jumped away, eager to get out of his circle. I smiled as I handed him the beer and waved away his money. "It's on us." I said. He put the money in the tip jar and moved back to his seat.
I tried to focus on the music, but my mind started buzzing. That stranger, that worshipper of music just kissed my cheek. I don't know him from Adam and he just ambled over and as soon as I leaned in he planted one right on my face. I smiled, unsure of how to really feel about the occurrence. I guess I liked that. I didn't feel threatened by it, or anything. I looked out over the other heads of the nodding patrons, all there to experience the jazz and to drink in the sounds. I moved to make my way up the aisle that parts the small room I work in and did it more for the purpose of feeling the reverence of the listeners than to take drink orders. It's like walking through a church sermon in a church full of very dedicated converts.
As I collected a few empty glasses I wondered if the "Holy Spirit" of the room would cause someone else to kiss me one day. I didn't mind that idea. I got the sense that the kiss came from a place of bliss through worship than any sexual drive. I smiled. And who says the power of prayer is only for churches?
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
A Study In Relaxation
I laid my head back on to the pedicure chair and relaxed into the simultaneous manicure-pedicure I was getting. Suuuuuch decadence should not be fully enjoyed, not really. No, my guilt must play a part in the indulgence, my nagging brain has to interject her opinion about how much money I am wasting and how I shouldn't drool on my shirt, or even relax enough to fart. But, I see people do these things all the time all over the city. And, granted I don't think I can ever get that relaxed that I can just rip a good one in a public place, there is something so ballsy, so adult, about fully enjoying oneself.
At work the other day, my work husband (The bartender I work with the most: we fit like a hand in a glove. It's a pleasure working with this guy) and I were chatting under our breath like we usually do when a particularly boring show is going on when, without warning, a loud juicy fart erupted from somewhere beyond the bar from an undisclosed location. Simultaneously my work Hubby and I broke into gales of uncontrollable laughter. Someone FARTED! And it wasn't me! And it wasn't the work husband... so who is the culprit? Don't laugh too loud, you'll disrupt the show! I felt tears well up with the effort to suppress the loud guffaws I wanted to release. I looked at the other suspects in the area of the blast. No one had moved. No one had shifted. All was still the same. They must have heard that as well though. How did they all keep their composure? Magic. Adult Magic that must come when you reach a certain age that a massive fart can't interrupt your composure.
I see people sleeping on the subway all the time. It's no big deal. However, a person openly drooling on their shirt is a sight that takes my breath away. Are they aware that they are drooling on themselves? What a wonderful thing... They are so relaxed that drool can puddle on the front of their shirts and New York City can watch them do this. I can't get that comfortable in a public place. Nope. Not happening. Recently I have been so fascinated with the idea of people passing out in the subway; that I've been filming some of the sleepers. Everyone is unique. Everyone is trying to stay upright (some more successful than others) and some even magically open their eyes to the right train station. Sleeping on a subway is an incredibly ballsy thing to do, in my opinion. And, although it won't make me break into waves on uncontrollable laughter, it still makes me pause and stare for a minute.
Are these sleepers and gas-rippers fully enjoying themselves? Are these things just a side-effect of certain conditions? Accidents that occur due to a busy life style? Who knows. But, whenever I am witness to one of these acts I feel changed. These acts are so honest, and as they occur there is no apology, only afterwards, when there is a reaction amongst the natives. And just as a disclaimer: I am not a 5 year old. I feel that children are exempt from these judgments because they can fully enjoy whatever the hell they want since they haven't fully learned what it is to have a filter in their subconscious.
So, I was leaning back into my chair while one girl worked on my toes and another filed my finger nails. I thought to these occurrences in which there is no filter. I relaxed. I didn't fart though. Nor did I fall asleep. But I forgave the guilt associated with enjoying myself and tried as hard as I could to give myself up to the relaxation. Being an adult can also mean being poised in moments of extreme comfort, too. That's magic as well.
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