The Wanna Be - Part 1...

Now that it's summer, half the waitstaff is away on vacation, so that means the other half must work their shifts. It's not a pretty sight. Each day, I see those left behind become more and more pale, their pasty skin, matte like yeast filled dough ready for the oven. Overtimed? Overworked? - "Over here, guys. I'll pick up that shift for you." Though Dr. Goode recommends a short work week, 2 or 3 days, I have been picking up shifts left and right. I need the money, but more than that, I need to believe the waiter's faux and the some almost sincere "thank yous" tossed my way as they head out to the great deep blue. Past sins aren't quite as sinful when the beach is involved. Ahh, love by default.

This morning at family meal, marking my 10th shift in a row, I could barely hear the other waiters at the other table talking. Apparently, the restaurant has seen its share of servers go on to become famous - an American Idol and an Emmy winning film and television actor just to not name a couple. As I cut into my 8th tiny sausage link, its casing snapping under the weight of my butter knife, I thought to myself, "I should have been famous." I always thought I would be one of those, "you know who used to be a waiter here," people. And then I remembered the five months a few years ago when I thought I was.

I never took an acting class and was never in a play at school. In 7th grade, to get out of gym, I took chours. My voice was so horrible, singing quietly, way in the back, still wasn't enough to cover my talentless ass. In order to make Mount Mumphry Middle School Happy Dancing Singers competition ready, I became, out of pure auditory necessity, my Junior High's first and only interpreter for the hearing impaired. Standing to the side of the stage, decked out in black pants, black shirt and jazzy white gloves, I attempted the signing of such classics as Amazing Grace, What Color is God's Skin, and my personal favorite, El Shaddai. I was terrible, but the only one who knew it was Gloria Klein, the one deaf girl in school...and she wasn't talking. Gloria appreciated the effort and vowed to never tell anyone 99% of my signings were made up. She tried to help by teaching me after school, but I ended up just learning dirty phrases and blush worthy cuss words. For a deaf girl, Gloria had the filthiest mouth in town.

It's getting late and I have to work tomorrow, so I will finish this story another time. Oh and by the way, I saw a poster for a missing dog named 'lil Bit. Brown, white eyes. It's on the corner of Howard and Lafayette. If anyone knows anything about the pup, call the number that's on the poster.