Who-knows-how-long-ago to January 28, 2008, Chivalry has passed away - seemingly overnight. It was survived by women everywhere, and men who will never get a clue.
I'm convinced. Chivalry is dead. I welcome a disagreement on this topic as my faith in men, or wait, BOYS, has been lost quite possibly forever.
Love notes? A thing of the past. Phone calls? Replaced with a text. Talking until 2am on the phone? G-Chat is much easier... just wait until you are arthritic at age 45, you can't type, and you'll have no idea how to interact. It's all become too easy for boys to slack off in the romance department. That's right, I said it... ROMANCE. Remember? You wait by the phone in hopes of his number appearing on the caller ID (still a recent development - I never had caller ID until college). You've been practicing what you'll say and you anxiously await his question. "Um, (nervous) I was, um, wondering if you wanted to grab dinner on Thursday night, or, um, maybe a movie or something?" So it isn't the perfect rico suave invitation... but at least it is clear, to the point, and you have a date with an actual human being on Thursday! He picks you up (yes, picks you up because he has a car), you go to a restaurant that he has selected, opening all of your doors he walks up to the maitre'd and says "chivalrous boy, reservation for 2". Your heart melts as he's taken the time to call ahead. You are ushered to your table where he pulls out your chair and you sit gracefully ready for the next round. He carefully selects a bottle of wine (after asking what you are thinking of having... this could be a bit much, but he should ask) and orders it - actually pronouncing the name correctly. You select your main course and he orders an appetizer and then your dish (if not, he lets you order first). You have stimulating conversation because he actually ASKS QUESTIONS and has more than a one word response when you too engage in the question asking portion of the evening. He'll compliment your look, then your awesomeness... and then as the evening comes to an end, he'll suggest "doing this again soon" upon opening more of your doors and then driving you home. He'll call you in the next few days and ask you for the next date... you'll happily agree because, well, why not? He didn't go over the top. It wasn't mushy or cheesey. It was simple and sweet and you felt like a lady.
I have a best friend... she has the worst luck with dating. She recently went on a date with a guy. She was so-so on the decision to go because he is young and she didn't know anything about him and he sort of resembled her ex. BUT, she accepted. They had a nice time... I'd say he did at least half of the "what you should do's" and she ended the date satisfied. Until the follow up. He sends her a TEXT. "Would you like to do something on this week?" She responds: "Yes! Sounds good." He says: "Ok, well how about YOU plan it this time."
EXCUSE ME? I thought he was the one who suggested doing something in the first place. Isn't he supposed to plan it? And via text?! I was floored, stunned and speechless. This isn't the first incident. This is the third guy in a row to ask her on a first date and then ask her to plan the second. Is this what dating in the 21st Century has come to?
So long, chivalry. It was so nice to know you... even to see you briefly.
A mourning service will be held in the very near future for our outdated friend. Also being remembered are the love note, manners, the much anticipated phone call, and the prior planner. Donations will be accepted in honor of the deceased at the Center for Women Have to Do It All... Again.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Chicago's 7th Snowiest December...EVER, people.
I will agree with Allison, Chicago is absolutely stunning right now... but it has been quite the adjustment to this weather. After being "that girl in her high heels" a couple weeks ago during out first snow flurry, Santa brought me an early Christmas present... BOOTS. Thank goodness they came early because according to WGN, (the Chicago local news) we are experiencing one of the snowiest Decembers in 124 years. You may think it is pretty, but it is not so pretty when you have to wait for public transportation to take you to and from work.
I think I should write a little book of tips for those who are new to the city. First, don't stand inside the bus stop. It seems like a safe zone, but oh no. Yesterday morning I was standing inside the bus stop waiting for my transfer bus on Michigan Ave when this nice black Ranger Rover came speeding by, hitting a puddle of slush, and spraying me and another innocent bystander. Now I stand behind the bus stop.
Puddles. I don't think I have ever seen bigger puddles here. Of course the biggest puddle in Chicago happens to be located at the bus stop in front of our apartment. When the bus drops you off on the way home, you have to wait on a small curb side until the bus passes and the light signals "walk." If the light is red, you have to wait for cars to pass by. Big puddle + cars speeding by = no good. Thankfully the first time I experienced this I was next to a nice lady who held her umbrella out in front of her to block the splash. Second lesson: use your umbrella as a shield.
Falling ice. On Wednesday I was walking along with my new friend/co-worker Sheila to grab some lunch when all of a sudden we were caught in the line of fire. The buildings in the area put out signs that read "watch for falling ice." Yeah, yeah... falling ice. What, is an icicle going to pierce my skull? I didn't think so... until... Sheila and I were gossiping and minding our own business when a HUGE 80 pound chunk of ice came falling down off the 40-story skyscraper landing at our feet. If we were one second faster it would have landed directly on our heads, most likely KILLING us - ok maybe that is a bit of an exaggeration. But STILL. OMG. I think Chicago should make covered sidewalks with heaters. I mean, come on. This is dangerous, so they want people losing lives from falling ice? Third lesson: start designing my own line of designer hard hats.
The commute home on the bus. During the snow storm on Tuesday evening I hopped on my first bus after waiting in the freezing cold for 30 minutes. Let me tell you, it was a battle to get a spot on the bus, standing or sitting. I shoved my way through and was lucky enough to get a spot on the bus. With my ipod in, hat on, scarf tightly snug around my neck, gloves and huge jacket, I was sweaty. I managed to get an arm up to take my hat off, that helped. We only live about three miles away from the downtown loop. It normally takes about 30 minutes to get home on a good day. This time it took two hours to get home. I guess the city is trying to save money and cut back on the amount of city workers. Thus less people to plow the snow and cause major delays on everyone's commute home. To top it off, I had to spend those two hours leaning against my new homeless friend who decided to scream obscenities across the bus the ENTIRE time. No matter if you have your ipod on and do not give them attention, they still seem to harass you. Fourth lesson: when it snows, bundle up and walk home. It might be a little more painful but it might be worth it.
Here is what is in store for this evening:
"Chicago's 7th snowiest December in 124 years is about to get even snowier. The second major winter storm in a week -- this one wetter and stronger -- hits with thunder Thursday night and Friday morning. Its track will dictate how the cocktail of precipitation it produces is distributed across the area. Current indications point toward major snow and sleet accumulations roughly north of Interstate Highway 80 with serious icing -- capable of snapping power lines and downing branches -- being a problem late Thursday night in the south. Computer models and various snowfall forecast techniques suggest the storm's 12 to 14 hours of steady precipitation will reach the city between 8 p.m. and midnight. Estimates of the storm's water equivalent precipitation range from 0.86 inches to 1.75 inches -- three to six times the moisture generated by Tuesday's system. That could translate to 6 to 14 inches of snow over parts of the metro area -- especially north -- into Wisconsin. The presence of t-storms may lead to bursts of heavy precipitation."
I am walking home, we will see how this one goes.
I think I should write a little book of tips for those who are new to the city. First, don't stand inside the bus stop. It seems like a safe zone, but oh no. Yesterday morning I was standing inside the bus stop waiting for my transfer bus on Michigan Ave when this nice black Ranger Rover came speeding by, hitting a puddle of slush, and spraying me and another innocent bystander. Now I stand behind the bus stop.
Puddles. I don't think I have ever seen bigger puddles here. Of course the biggest puddle in Chicago happens to be located at the bus stop in front of our apartment. When the bus drops you off on the way home, you have to wait on a small curb side until the bus passes and the light signals "walk." If the light is red, you have to wait for cars to pass by. Big puddle + cars speeding by = no good. Thankfully the first time I experienced this I was next to a nice lady who held her umbrella out in front of her to block the splash. Second lesson: use your umbrella as a shield.
Falling ice. On Wednesday I was walking along with my new friend/co-worker Sheila to grab some lunch when all of a sudden we were caught in the line of fire. The buildings in the area put out signs that read "watch for falling ice." Yeah, yeah... falling ice. What, is an icicle going to pierce my skull? I didn't think so... until... Sheila and I were gossiping and minding our own business when a HUGE 80 pound chunk of ice came falling down off the 40-story skyscraper landing at our feet. If we were one second faster it would have landed directly on our heads, most likely KILLING us - ok maybe that is a bit of an exaggeration. But STILL. OMG. I think Chicago should make covered sidewalks with heaters. I mean, come on. This is dangerous, so they want people losing lives from falling ice? Third lesson: start designing my own line of designer hard hats.
The commute home on the bus. During the snow storm on Tuesday evening I hopped on my first bus after waiting in the freezing cold for 30 minutes. Let me tell you, it was a battle to get a spot on the bus, standing or sitting. I shoved my way through and was lucky enough to get a spot on the bus. With my ipod in, hat on, scarf tightly snug around my neck, gloves and huge jacket, I was sweaty. I managed to get an arm up to take my hat off, that helped. We only live about three miles away from the downtown loop. It normally takes about 30 minutes to get home on a good day. This time it took two hours to get home. I guess the city is trying to save money and cut back on the amount of city workers. Thus less people to plow the snow and cause major delays on everyone's commute home. To top it off, I had to spend those two hours leaning against my new homeless friend who decided to scream obscenities across the bus the ENTIRE time. No matter if you have your ipod on and do not give them attention, they still seem to harass you. Fourth lesson: when it snows, bundle up and walk home. It might be a little more painful but it might be worth it.
Here is what is in store for this evening:
"Chicago's 7th snowiest December in 124 years is about to get even snowier. The second major winter storm in a week -- this one wetter and stronger -- hits with thunder Thursday night and Friday morning. Its track will dictate how the cocktail of precipitation it produces is distributed across the area. Current indications point toward major snow and sleet accumulations roughly north of Interstate Highway 80 with serious icing -- capable of snapping power lines and downing branches -- being a problem late Thursday night in the south. Computer models and various snowfall forecast techniques suggest the storm's 12 to 14 hours of steady precipitation will reach the city between 8 p.m. and midnight. Estimates of the storm's water equivalent precipitation range from 0.86 inches to 1.75 inches -- three to six times the moisture generated by Tuesday's system. That could translate to 6 to 14 inches of snow over parts of the metro area -- especially north -- into Wisconsin. The presence of t-storms may lead to bursts of heavy precipitation."
I am walking home, we will see how this one goes.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Tis the season
The city has been transformed. Every store front is adorned with Christmas trees, holiday lights, boughs of holly and humongous ornaments. Every bar, restaurant, movie theater, condo building and tree along the street is covered in holiday cheer. I've never seen anything like it.
In each planter along Michigan Avenue sits a perfect glass ball next to a whimsical tree covered in white lights. I'm sure that if this set up was in Seattle, a bum would quite possible electrocute himself by urinating on the extension cords and would try to sell the blown glass ball on a nearby corner. Also in these planters are white boards on stands with a "Happy Holidays and Happy New Year" scribbled in cursive black dry erase marker. EXTRAORDINARY that nobody should come by and change it to "F*$% all you commercial sinners!" or something offensive followed by a "JESUS LIVES" to really stress the true meaning of Christmas. Day by day I pass the planters and they remain the same. The glass balls are unremoved. The Christmas trees are lightly dusted with snow and sparkling white lights. The dry erase cursive still reads a pleasant and cheerful message. How can this be?
I have seen movies of New York City sidewalks where it looks like a moving river of people packed in so tightly it stresses me out. Michigan Avenue aka "The Magnificent Mile" is no different. Women in their fur coats and hats shuffle along the sidewalks carrying their Saks and Neimans bags, bumping into everyone as though they have a special right to take up more space. RED BAGS are everywhere as the enormous American Girl doll store is next to the Macy's - both big red bags. Then you pass the teenagers that are no doubt still shopping for themselves as they schlep their yellow Forever 21 bags alongside their friends.
Chicago is lovely - flipping freezing - but lovely. The spirit, the pride, the gorgeous snow and the perfect fur coats have made this a truly magical holiday season.
In each planter along Michigan Avenue sits a perfect glass ball next to a whimsical tree covered in white lights. I'm sure that if this set up was in Seattle, a bum would quite possible electrocute himself by urinating on the extension cords and would try to sell the blown glass ball on a nearby corner. Also in these planters are white boards on stands with a "Happy Holidays and Happy New Year" scribbled in cursive black dry erase marker. EXTRAORDINARY that nobody should come by and change it to "F*$% all you commercial sinners!" or something offensive followed by a "JESUS LIVES" to really stress the true meaning of Christmas. Day by day I pass the planters and they remain the same. The glass balls are unremoved. The Christmas trees are lightly dusted with snow and sparkling white lights. The dry erase cursive still reads a pleasant and cheerful message. How can this be?
I have seen movies of New York City sidewalks where it looks like a moving river of people packed in so tightly it stresses me out. Michigan Avenue aka "The Magnificent Mile" is no different. Women in their fur coats and hats shuffle along the sidewalks carrying their Saks and Neimans bags, bumping into everyone as though they have a special right to take up more space. RED BAGS are everywhere as the enormous American Girl doll store is next to the Macy's - both big red bags. Then you pass the teenagers that are no doubt still shopping for themselves as they schlep their yellow Forever 21 bags alongside their friends.
Chicago is lovely - flipping freezing - but lovely. The spirit, the pride, the gorgeous snow and the perfect fur coats have made this a truly magical holiday season.
Monday, December 1, 2008
The sniffle crime
Waterproof Ugg boots, wool socks, double-up mittens and the biggest coat you can find - all essentials for a Chicago winter. The snow has graced us with it's presence - and like like an old tattoo of your astrological sign that you got when you were 18 and will regret for the rest of your life - I think this winter is here to stay... until March anyway.
There have been flurries. There have been flakes. But, nothing has stuck around until last night. I woke up to find a white Lake Shore Drive and a fuzzy view of the lake as the snow continued to dust the sky. I decided to brave the wintry conditions and venture out to run a few errands. I put on my long underwear, jeans, 2 shirts, a sweater, scarf, wool socks, rain boots, hat, jacket, a pair of gloves and walked to the bus stop prepared to wait. The snow was falling sideways and I swear I saw some coming from the ground up... making sure to hit whatever bare piece of skin I had left exposed. I watched people scraping their windshields with devices that I did not know existed... an extendable window shovels with rubber grips ready to rid your car of the dreaded ice.
I made it downtown on the bus (very slowly) and made a few stops, splashing in puddles and crunching in the compacted snow. Everyone was bundled up and then it occurred to me that Jen wore heels to work today. Heels. In the snow. She emailed me about this catastrophic error and told me that she almost fell with every step. She'll be taking a cab home this evening.
Upon my errand completion, I was back to the bus. Jen left me a bag of clothes that she needed delivered to a nearby tailor shop... The bus dropped me 3 blocks away and I decided to hoof it in the snow to the shop - except that I was on the wrong street and completely missed the shop and found myself in front of our apartment. Hmmm. Freezing, irritated, trying to be a good friend and confused about why I am walking around in the snow, I backtracked 5 blocks and found the shop. The Asian man behind the counter helped me with the things and I tried to show him what needed to be done... however, snot was pouring out of my pink nose and as I was trying to sniffle it back in, he walked away from me. At first I thought he was going to be polite and grab me a tissue. Instead, he went back to his lint roller and continued what he was doing. "Excuse me..." I said, rosy-cheeked and still sniffling. "When you ready, you let me know" he barked back. At what point did standing at the counter with the clothes in front of me get confusing for him? "I AM ready" I informed him. "Ohhh... you just stand there sniffle and I not know what you need." Really. Really? I was shocked. He made fun of me for having a runny nose? I should have just walked out, but couldn't fathom the idea of looking for another tailor shop in the weather. Maybe he would have preferred the "let-the-snot-run-down-my-lip-into-my-mouth" look. Always cute...
I showed him the ripped seams and missing buttons, took my slip, and left. I don't know if it felt warmer out because I was boiling mad, or if there had been a temperature increase to a whopping 28 degrees, but the sideways snow had stopped. It was quiet and beautiful. I looked around and saw the huge brownstone mansions with chandeliers and grand pianos occupying their bay windows. Every wrought-iron fence lined with garland and red bows... the snow was the final touch to this winter wonderland.
I walked the 4 blocks home and took deep breaths of the cold air - which did make me cough. I hear that by February we are going to curse at the snow every day, so I might as well enjoy it for the first week or so. Or, until I fall down in it - which I'm sure will happen in no time.
All I have to do now is remember my pack of tissues! And gloves... and scarf... and boots... and...
There have been flurries. There have been flakes. But, nothing has stuck around until last night. I woke up to find a white Lake Shore Drive and a fuzzy view of the lake as the snow continued to dust the sky. I decided to brave the wintry conditions and venture out to run a few errands. I put on my long underwear, jeans, 2 shirts, a sweater, scarf, wool socks, rain boots, hat, jacket, a pair of gloves and walked to the bus stop prepared to wait. The snow was falling sideways and I swear I saw some coming from the ground up... making sure to hit whatever bare piece of skin I had left exposed. I watched people scraping their windshields with devices that I did not know existed... an extendable window shovels with rubber grips ready to rid your car of the dreaded ice.
I made it downtown on the bus (very slowly) and made a few stops, splashing in puddles and crunching in the compacted snow. Everyone was bundled up and then it occurred to me that Jen wore heels to work today. Heels. In the snow. She emailed me about this catastrophic error and told me that she almost fell with every step. She'll be taking a cab home this evening.
Upon my errand completion, I was back to the bus. Jen left me a bag of clothes that she needed delivered to a nearby tailor shop... The bus dropped me 3 blocks away and I decided to hoof it in the snow to the shop - except that I was on the wrong street and completely missed the shop and found myself in front of our apartment. Hmmm. Freezing, irritated, trying to be a good friend and confused about why I am walking around in the snow, I backtracked 5 blocks and found the shop. The Asian man behind the counter helped me with the things and I tried to show him what needed to be done... however, snot was pouring out of my pink nose and as I was trying to sniffle it back in, he walked away from me. At first I thought he was going to be polite and grab me a tissue. Instead, he went back to his lint roller and continued what he was doing. "Excuse me..." I said, rosy-cheeked and still sniffling. "When you ready, you let me know" he barked back. At what point did standing at the counter with the clothes in front of me get confusing for him? "I AM ready" I informed him. "Ohhh... you just stand there sniffle and I not know what you need." Really. Really? I was shocked. He made fun of me for having a runny nose? I should have just walked out, but couldn't fathom the idea of looking for another tailor shop in the weather. Maybe he would have preferred the "let-the-snot-run-down-my-lip-into-my-mouth" look. Always cute...
I showed him the ripped seams and missing buttons, took my slip, and left. I don't know if it felt warmer out because I was boiling mad, or if there had been a temperature increase to a whopping 28 degrees, but the sideways snow had stopped. It was quiet and beautiful. I looked around and saw the huge brownstone mansions with chandeliers and grand pianos occupying their bay windows. Every wrought-iron fence lined with garland and red bows... the snow was the final touch to this winter wonderland.
I walked the 4 blocks home and took deep breaths of the cold air - which did make me cough. I hear that by February we are going to curse at the snow every day, so I might as well enjoy it for the first week or so. Or, until I fall down in it - which I'm sure will happen in no time.
All I have to do now is remember my pack of tissues! And gloves... and scarf... and boots... and...
Monday, November 24, 2008
Waitress.
Almost one month and 7 waitress shifts in, I have learned more than I thought I would about the human race... or, at least the ones that get completely inebriated on the weekends.
Still "day jobless" I am working my rear off at the bar on the weekends to make enough cash to survive in Chicago. Thursday night was a themed evening at my place of employment. Dirty Bingo. I won't go into detail, but the only dirty parts were the explicit give-aways and the crowd. If anyone reading this has ever worked in a restaurant of bar, you will understand the girl I am about to explain. The little helper.
A 5'2" brunette striking an uncanny resemblance to Jennifer Love Hewitt during the Party of Five days popped up next to me within the first three minutes of my shift - a shift that I was all alone on. "oh. hey. um. can you please get us 13 shots, menus, waters, an extra table annnnd, oh, um, the people next to us would like some menus too. thanks!" Deep breaths.
I placed her order, delivered the menus for her group of 13 AND for the people behind her that had been sitting there for maybe 45 seconds. She was just so sweet to be looking out for everyone else in the bar. Suddenly, everyone in Lincoln Park thought it would be a great idea to join "Dirty Bingo Night" and flooded the bar. Every table was full, every stool taken, and a few people that stood... and expected to eat a burger. I was running like a mad woman. Every time I would pass through the tables, my arm was grabbed and "CAN I HAVE A RUM AND COKE" was shouted in my face. By the time I'd reach my station... a few of those RUM AND COKES were completely lost in my memory. Right as I am about to regurgitate the orders and enter them into the computer, I was interrupted. Enter: Little helper. "Um, hi, so, um, we're ready for you to take our order." I politely explained that I was the only person on the floor tonight for the 200 people seated, drinking, and ordering food - and that I would be with her as soon as I had a chance. Two minutes pass... "oh, um, hi. I was just wondering if you'd had that chance yet."
I looked at her little scooped nose and contemplated the consequences of squirting her with mustard, or dumping a drink over her shiny hair. Deep breaths. I walked to the very end of the bar and took orders for her and her 13 friends - all separate checks, of course.
We had one person in the kitchen... so the food took about 20 minutes and since her posse insisted on separate checks, the cook had no idea that they were all together and was making one thing at a time. My little helper was like a two year old screaming for juice on the kitchen floor. She tugged and tormented me at least 15 times throughout the night... FINALLY, dirty bingo was over and everyone was drunk and fed. I had done my job. I deliver the bills all over the bar... and get to my little helper. Her total was $78 dollars, although it felt like it should have been $178 with the amount of dialogue we exchanged. Everyone else in her party was sweet and threw me a $4 or $5 tip for their $8 total. Then, in slow motion, I spotted her bill presenter with the signed check inside. I grabbed it, opened it and suddenly regretted not squirting her petite frame with every ounce of mustard in the bar. $2. She left me $2.
This brings me to my next point. Girls don't tip. I try to bond with them... compliment their top or their designer bag. I'll ask them what they're up to and how the night is going. They'll sit in my section for hours ordering free diet coke refills or only a couple of beers and then leave me the standard 20%. I'm no genius at math, but I am learning quickly that 20% of $2 diet coke isn't much. I firmly believe that every person who dines out should work in a bar or restaurant once in their lives. I can always tell who has, because they get it, and tip generously.
Finally, I was assigned to coat check on Saturday night. A pretty good gig... you sit, take coats, and get tipped. You also have a front row seat to the best show in town: inebriation station. I got out a piece of paper and took notes in between hanging jackets because what I was witnessing, totally sober, was perfection.
First, we have the "wannabe rap stars". These young men open and close their mouths at a rapid pace to make it look like they know the words to the latest Kanye West song - or any rap song. Obviously, they don't and look like total morons mumbling to the beat of the song moving their hands in jerky motions to emphasize the power of being a (wannabe) rapper. Why do boys lift each other off of the ground so much? Is it to show affection? Then, there are the make out bandits - the ladies that I thought were kissing their boyfriend... but then were kissing a different boyfriend? And is that another? My favorite was a guy who came up to me in a panic. "Excuse me. Do you have a cup?" I asked for what... "Well, my friend bought me this beer, and I really don't like it and don't want to drink it. SO, I would like to pour out half of it to make it look like I drank it." Really? A $4 beer. His friend must have been very sensitive. I could go on and on... it was beyond entertaining.
Another weekend at the bar is over, and we're back to Monday. I'm leaving the chilly Chicago for San Diego this week. I'm meeting Darren's family. Wish me luck! I hope everyone has a fabulous Thanksgiving holiday. Just remember, tip generously; no matter how much wine you consume, leave the rapping to the professionals; and try not to do any quick, jerky movements if dancing is involved - it's just never a good idea.
Still "day jobless" I am working my rear off at the bar on the weekends to make enough cash to survive in Chicago. Thursday night was a themed evening at my place of employment. Dirty Bingo. I won't go into detail, but the only dirty parts were the explicit give-aways and the crowd. If anyone reading this has ever worked in a restaurant of bar, you will understand the girl I am about to explain. The little helper.
A 5'2" brunette striking an uncanny resemblance to Jennifer Love Hewitt during the Party of Five days popped up next to me within the first three minutes of my shift - a shift that I was all alone on. "oh. hey. um. can you please get us 13 shots, menus, waters, an extra table annnnd, oh, um, the people next to us would like some menus too. thanks!" Deep breaths.
I placed her order, delivered the menus for her group of 13 AND for the people behind her that had been sitting there for maybe 45 seconds. She was just so sweet to be looking out for everyone else in the bar. Suddenly, everyone in Lincoln Park thought it would be a great idea to join "Dirty Bingo Night" and flooded the bar. Every table was full, every stool taken, and a few people that stood... and expected to eat a burger. I was running like a mad woman. Every time I would pass through the tables, my arm was grabbed and "CAN I HAVE A RUM AND COKE" was shouted in my face. By the time I'd reach my station... a few of those RUM AND COKES were completely lost in my memory. Right as I am about to regurgitate the orders and enter them into the computer, I was interrupted. Enter: Little helper. "Um, hi, so, um, we're ready for you to take our order." I politely explained that I was the only person on the floor tonight for the 200 people seated, drinking, and ordering food - and that I would be with her as soon as I had a chance. Two minutes pass... "oh, um, hi. I was just wondering if you'd had that chance yet."
I looked at her little scooped nose and contemplated the consequences of squirting her with mustard, or dumping a drink over her shiny hair. Deep breaths. I walked to the very end of the bar and took orders for her and her 13 friends - all separate checks, of course.
We had one person in the kitchen... so the food took about 20 minutes and since her posse insisted on separate checks, the cook had no idea that they were all together and was making one thing at a time. My little helper was like a two year old screaming for juice on the kitchen floor. She tugged and tormented me at least 15 times throughout the night... FINALLY, dirty bingo was over and everyone was drunk and fed. I had done my job. I deliver the bills all over the bar... and get to my little helper. Her total was $78 dollars, although it felt like it should have been $178 with the amount of dialogue we exchanged. Everyone else in her party was sweet and threw me a $4 or $5 tip for their $8 total. Then, in slow motion, I spotted her bill presenter with the signed check inside. I grabbed it, opened it and suddenly regretted not squirting her petite frame with every ounce of mustard in the bar. $2. She left me $2.
This brings me to my next point. Girls don't tip. I try to bond with them... compliment their top or their designer bag. I'll ask them what they're up to and how the night is going. They'll sit in my section for hours ordering free diet coke refills or only a couple of beers and then leave me the standard 20%. I'm no genius at math, but I am learning quickly that 20% of $2 diet coke isn't much. I firmly believe that every person who dines out should work in a bar or restaurant once in their lives. I can always tell who has, because they get it, and tip generously.
Finally, I was assigned to coat check on Saturday night. A pretty good gig... you sit, take coats, and get tipped. You also have a front row seat to the best show in town: inebriation station. I got out a piece of paper and took notes in between hanging jackets because what I was witnessing, totally sober, was perfection.
First, we have the "wannabe rap stars". These young men open and close their mouths at a rapid pace to make it look like they know the words to the latest Kanye West song - or any rap song. Obviously, they don't and look like total morons mumbling to the beat of the song moving their hands in jerky motions to emphasize the power of being a (wannabe) rapper. Why do boys lift each other off of the ground so much? Is it to show affection? Then, there are the make out bandits - the ladies that I thought were kissing their boyfriend... but then were kissing a different boyfriend? And is that another? My favorite was a guy who came up to me in a panic. "Excuse me. Do you have a cup?" I asked for what... "Well, my friend bought me this beer, and I really don't like it and don't want to drink it. SO, I would like to pour out half of it to make it look like I drank it." Really? A $4 beer. His friend must have been very sensitive. I could go on and on... it was beyond entertaining.
Another weekend at the bar is over, and we're back to Monday. I'm leaving the chilly Chicago for San Diego this week. I'm meeting Darren's family. Wish me luck! I hope everyone has a fabulous Thanksgiving holiday. Just remember, tip generously; no matter how much wine you consume, leave the rapping to the professionals; and try not to do any quick, jerky movements if dancing is involved - it's just never a good idea.
Monday, November 17, 2008
"Boys" in the City
Jen will probably kill me for writing this. Maybe I should change her name in this entry to be completely conspicuous. That might be more obvious than not, I suppose.
I moved to Chicago with a boyfriend. Wasn't the plan... in fact, the reason Jen and I decided it was time to move was because it was the first time we were single at the same time in five years. NO DATING was our motto three months prior to our departure. One night, Jen came home from a date (totally broke the rule) and was smiling from ear to ear because she had such a fabulous time. I was like the evil head mistress of the No Dating for Jen Academy - waiting with a wooden spoon by the door for her return. She came home and was about to tell me about the date when I burst, screaming "Don't you fall in love with him because we'll never move away!" I've been known to be a little dramatic from time to time. In this instance, Jen grabbed that hypothetical wooden spoon from me and smacked me with it for having such little faith. The guy turned out to be a total jerk a week later - which I claimed I had known all along, of course.
A month later, I had a boyfriend.
Jen has been playing it cool in Chicago... not at all boy crazy and completely in control. In fact, it's just the opposite. None of these young men can seem to play it cool.
We are young, yes. Fortunately, for women, finding an older more mature man is completely socially acceptable. When we moved to Chicago, we realized that we didn't have many guy friends in Seattle under 28 years old. Now, the majority of our new posse would definitely check the 24-27 box. This is not a problem - until they want to date you.
Jen's love life has been more entertaining than any program on tv - her very own soap opera love triangle... or square... or pentagon. These boys (and yes, I mean boys) have been going crazy for our little Jen. Asking her to lunch and then planning the wedding by the afternoon. Sending secret spies on missions to catch her out with other guys and then sending "I caught you" text messages instantaneously when they'd only grabbed a coffee together during a 10 minute work break. The sweet co-worker who set Jen up on a blind date with a VERY nice guy... who was 5 feet tall. My favorite one was sending messages telling Jen how she felt about him "Jen, I know you think I'm attractive" followed by an insecure "right?". One Tuesday night, Jen came home from work to find Darren and I devouring the last of our order-in dinner. She had recieved another text - this time, from a different crazy. She had gone out with him the weekend before (yes, only three days had passed) and it hadn't gone so well. There had been no correspondance from either party after the date... which doesn't mean anything as, like I said, it was only three days post date. The text read: well, i haven't heard from you, so i guess this means we're done. i hope we can still be friends. WHAT on earth was this guy thinking?! The three of us sat on the couch and scripted a line by line dialogue between Jen and "Mr. premature-call-it-quits" outlining a few minor issues like chemistry (or the lack there of) and his actions of insecurity followed by a "we are better as friends", etc. Ready to go, she placed the call. Voicemail. What does Jen do? I'll tell you what she does NOT. She does not say "hey, call me back, we obviously have some things to talk about." Instead, she jumps right into the script! "Hey, got your text - Were you calling everything off in a text message? Yikes! I just don't think we have any chemistry and would still like to be friends. Call me when you get this and we can talk about it..." A day later, he calls. She doesn't answer. His message went a little something like this: "Hey jen, got your message, YEAH, no chemistry... right... no chemistry. I guess we just didn't have chemistry, or maybe there wasn't any chemistry. Let's be friends. Bye." I can't tell, but I don't think he liked the chemistry comment. And that, ladies and gentleman, was a break-up text, followed by a break-up voicemail and yet another chemistry-less follow-up voicemail. The stories haven't stopped, and we haven't stopped laughing.
Jen and I walked home from church yesterday. Bundled up (because it snowed), she asked me through her scarf and I turned my head to read her lips as I can't hear much through the puff of my puffy coat hood - she wondered where all the "older, mature, established Chicago men" were hiding. Frozen, I responded, "Jen, we haven't even started searching. It took us a couple of years to find a few in Seattle. Let's start the hunt...there's just got to be some out there." We walked the rest of the block in silence.
I have to say - I'm incredibly lucky. I have a fabulous, amazing boyfriend who has been nothing but supportive, encouraging and loving. They do exist - hence my decision to move to a new city with a boyfriend back in Seattle - I wasn't letting this one go! This "luck" makes "the hunt" more difficult as our standards have been significantly raised.
Jen is updating a dating checklist to simplify the qualifying process. We don't have time for these crazies. It's almost New Years and Jenny needs a prince for her midnight kiss... or a new Cole Hahn bag by Christmas.
I moved to Chicago with a boyfriend. Wasn't the plan... in fact, the reason Jen and I decided it was time to move was because it was the first time we were single at the same time in five years. NO DATING was our motto three months prior to our departure. One night, Jen came home from a date (totally broke the rule) and was smiling from ear to ear because she had such a fabulous time. I was like the evil head mistress of the No Dating for Jen Academy - waiting with a wooden spoon by the door for her return. She came home and was about to tell me about the date when I burst, screaming "Don't you fall in love with him because we'll never move away!" I've been known to be a little dramatic from time to time. In this instance, Jen grabbed that hypothetical wooden spoon from me and smacked me with it for having such little faith. The guy turned out to be a total jerk a week later - which I claimed I had known all along, of course.
A month later, I had a boyfriend.
Jen has been playing it cool in Chicago... not at all boy crazy and completely in control. In fact, it's just the opposite. None of these young men can seem to play it cool.
We are young, yes. Fortunately, for women, finding an older more mature man is completely socially acceptable. When we moved to Chicago, we realized that we didn't have many guy friends in Seattle under 28 years old. Now, the majority of our new posse would definitely check the 24-27 box. This is not a problem - until they want to date you.
Jen's love life has been more entertaining than any program on tv - her very own soap opera love triangle... or square... or pentagon. These boys (and yes, I mean boys) have been going crazy for our little Jen. Asking her to lunch and then planning the wedding by the afternoon. Sending secret spies on missions to catch her out with other guys and then sending "I caught you" text messages instantaneously when they'd only grabbed a coffee together during a 10 minute work break. The sweet co-worker who set Jen up on a blind date with a VERY nice guy... who was 5 feet tall. My favorite one was sending messages telling Jen how she felt about him "Jen, I know you think I'm attractive" followed by an insecure "right?". One Tuesday night, Jen came home from work to find Darren and I devouring the last of our order-in dinner. She had recieved another text - this time, from a different crazy. She had gone out with him the weekend before (yes, only three days had passed) and it hadn't gone so well. There had been no correspondance from either party after the date... which doesn't mean anything as, like I said, it was only three days post date. The text read: well, i haven't heard from you, so i guess this means we're done. i hope we can still be friends. WHAT on earth was this guy thinking?! The three of us sat on the couch and scripted a line by line dialogue between Jen and "Mr. premature-call-it-quits" outlining a few minor issues like chemistry (or the lack there of) and his actions of insecurity followed by a "we are better as friends", etc. Ready to go, she placed the call. Voicemail. What does Jen do? I'll tell you what she does NOT. She does not say "hey, call me back, we obviously have some things to talk about." Instead, she jumps right into the script! "Hey, got your text - Were you calling everything off in a text message? Yikes! I just don't think we have any chemistry and would still like to be friends. Call me when you get this and we can talk about it..." A day later, he calls. She doesn't answer. His message went a little something like this: "Hey jen, got your message, YEAH, no chemistry... right... no chemistry. I guess we just didn't have chemistry, or maybe there wasn't any chemistry. Let's be friends. Bye." I can't tell, but I don't think he liked the chemistry comment. And that, ladies and gentleman, was a break-up text, followed by a break-up voicemail and yet another chemistry-less follow-up voicemail. The stories haven't stopped, and we haven't stopped laughing.
Jen and I walked home from church yesterday. Bundled up (because it snowed), she asked me through her scarf and I turned my head to read her lips as I can't hear much through the puff of my puffy coat hood - she wondered where all the "older, mature, established Chicago men" were hiding. Frozen, I responded, "Jen, we haven't even started searching. It took us a couple of years to find a few in Seattle. Let's start the hunt...there's just got to be some out there." We walked the rest of the block in silence.
I have to say - I'm incredibly lucky. I have a fabulous, amazing boyfriend who has been nothing but supportive, encouraging and loving. They do exist - hence my decision to move to a new city with a boyfriend back in Seattle - I wasn't letting this one go! This "luck" makes "the hunt" more difficult as our standards have been significantly raised.
Jen is updating a dating checklist to simplify the qualifying process. We don't have time for these crazies. It's almost New Years and Jenny needs a prince for her midnight kiss... or a new Cole Hahn bag by Christmas.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Move over, plum!
As I said before, unemployment is the new black... and you know I hate to be out of style!
That's right, I have the Backstreet Boys lyrics "Oh my God, we're back agaaain" on repeat in my head. It's all so familiar. Waking up, snuggling with Puss on the couch for a couple of hours catching up on Survivor Gabon (all of the cute guys got voted off... lame), hitting the Internet and googling my heart out with keywords like "chicago jobs" and "please find me the best job where I won't feel like I am becoming a robot and I get paid generously". Yes, I quit my job.
I'm not usually a quitter. I like to think I can stick it out and make the best of a bad situation... but, I also think that if the shoe doesn't fit - get a new pair (with sparkles and glitter and high heels)! I sat anxiously at my desk all day Tuesday ready to pop the news to my supervisor that I would not be returning - ever. Finally, at 5:05, she heard me out, wished me well and I was back to black.
Normally, this instability would send someone spiralling into anxiety and doubt - but I felt like a five ton brick had just been lifted off of my shoulders. At least there's the bar... never thought I'd say that!
Darren, Jen and I went to church last Sunday. It was our first time visiting a Chicago church - and it was wonderful. The sermon was written for me. It seems like that always happens... I am completely in denial, or a wreck, or convincing myself of something, and then WHABAM! It's all right in front of you, impossible to ignore. The sermon was about fear and money. She said that we all have fear around money (especially in this market) and that we simply cannot let it dictate our lives. I applied this lesson to my own life and realized that the stress I was enduring at my new sales job every day was not worth the money - my fear of quitting because I would hurt their feelings (because, let's be honest, it wasn't like I was afraid of losing my $6 an hour) was becoming more important than listening to my gut telling me to GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE.
The sermon was perfect. Find courage and strength... and don't forget who you are when money gets mixed in. God has a plan and all that jazz... I like to consider myself a spiritual person; but not necessarily a hard core christian - which may be why when she said " your money is not your money, but God's money" I started to lose her.
However, I am now asking God for money every night before I go to bed since apparently he has is all... Next mission: Google "how to become God so I have all the money". I'll keep you posted on how that goes...
A
That's right, I have the Backstreet Boys lyrics "Oh my God, we're back agaaain" on repeat in my head. It's all so familiar. Waking up, snuggling with Puss on the couch for a couple of hours catching up on Survivor Gabon (all of the cute guys got voted off... lame), hitting the Internet and googling my heart out with keywords like "chicago jobs" and "please find me the best job where I won't feel like I am becoming a robot and I get paid generously". Yes, I quit my job.
I'm not usually a quitter. I like to think I can stick it out and make the best of a bad situation... but, I also think that if the shoe doesn't fit - get a new pair (with sparkles and glitter and high heels)! I sat anxiously at my desk all day Tuesday ready to pop the news to my supervisor that I would not be returning - ever. Finally, at 5:05, she heard me out, wished me well and I was back to black.
Normally, this instability would send someone spiralling into anxiety and doubt - but I felt like a five ton brick had just been lifted off of my shoulders. At least there's the bar... never thought I'd say that!
Darren, Jen and I went to church last Sunday. It was our first time visiting a Chicago church - and it was wonderful. The sermon was written for me. It seems like that always happens... I am completely in denial, or a wreck, or convincing myself of something, and then WHABAM! It's all right in front of you, impossible to ignore. The sermon was about fear and money. She said that we all have fear around money (especially in this market) and that we simply cannot let it dictate our lives. I applied this lesson to my own life and realized that the stress I was enduring at my new sales job every day was not worth the money - my fear of quitting because I would hurt their feelings (because, let's be honest, it wasn't like I was afraid of losing my $6 an hour) was becoming more important than listening to my gut telling me to GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE.
The sermon was perfect. Find courage and strength... and don't forget who you are when money gets mixed in. God has a plan and all that jazz... I like to consider myself a spiritual person; but not necessarily a hard core christian - which may be why when she said " your money is not your money, but God's money" I started to lose her.
However, I am now asking God for money every night before I go to bed since apparently he has is all... Next mission: Google "how to become God so I have all the money". I'll keep you posted on how that goes...
A
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