“He said you seemed like you were kinda slow ‘up here,’” laughed Upset Waitress, pointing to her temple.
“What? You mean because…”
“Because he thinks you are a total moron–an idiot,” she laughed again.
Of course, he came in again today. He comes in every day. He is 70 and looks and acts like someone who is 103 and shouldn’t have left the home. But I’m the moron. Hahaha.
“Yeah, so when you go to take his order in a second, because you HAVE to take him,” said my other co-worker, “Hold the can of cooking spray up to your ear, spray it, and pretend you’re answering a call.” Then she demonstrated.
I don’t know why, but this conversation didn’t stop for at least an hour. Say this, do this, act like this when you take his order, they kept pantomiming behind the line. I could not stop laughing. My sides were sore.
“You all are having too much fun back there,” smiled the head of a table of eight that included a trillion young children who wanted to do nothing more than watch their lemonade drip from their straws onto their napkins and into their fries.
UW held a spray bottle up to her head, rolled her eyes and pretended to drool. My other co-worker giggled again. I had to excuse myself and use my apron to wipe off my smeared makeup that had made its way to my chin as a result of laughing too hard. It was so stupid–like I apparently am–but I could not stop laughing.
“So how was your hot date last night?” UW asked later.
“Yeah, what happened, anything?” winked my other co-worker.
“Nah, NOT a hot date at all. Just a nice dinner,” I told them.
“Uh huh,” said UW.
“Right,” said my co-worker, shaking her head.
“You did it with him, I know it,” laughed UW.
“You did?” exclaimed my co-worker.
“Okay, we’re engaged and you’re both in the wedding,” I smirked at both of them.
So now my date–my easy going, funny, no-pressure, nice-guy dinner date–will forever be referred to as “the fiance.” Just as my day-at-a-time boy is forever “the douche” to UW. Ha!
Nicknames for my past and sort-of present guys, laughing ’till I cry, keeping a careful eye on my lighter every time UW bums a smoke, getting to know annoying and not-so-annoying regulars, being considered a moron by at least one customer–all good.
I may not know what the hell I am really doing at work, but it almost feels like home. Okay, maybe a slightly unconventional broken home, but home is home, right?