Yes, I'd Like Three Shirley Temples And Would You Charge It, Please?
Here is what I wanted to be when I was little:
A cowgirl waitress.
And I'm not trying to be cute - that's what I wanted to be. My cousin Ali and I were going to open a restaurant in...Nevada? and we'd wear cowboy boots and be waitressing extraordinaires.
But why?
Well here's the long and short of it, guys: when I'm sweeping and mopping at the store, I have a lot of time to think about why I think things. And here's what I came up with:
WAITRESS = unquestionable femininity. "Look at me, I'm a waitress, I have a ponytail, I can carry eight pizza pies with one hand and hardly break a sweat, and then you tip me. I'm so pretty!"
COWGIRL = ...cool, duh. But doesn't it smack of lesbianism?
no! Because I'm also a waitress! A girly waitress! So by being a cowgirl waitress, I get to:
a) wear cowboy boots
b) live the life of a cowboy who just doesn't give a shit
c) carry around large amounts of food in one hand (and therefore constantly impress people with a skill that comes second-nature to me)
d) live outside the law
So it looks like that's what I'm going to be aiming for in about three years. I need to call Ali to see if she's still on board.
ALSO
there is a man with adult braces who stalks me at work. He sits in the ONE stupid easy chair in the cafe for four or five hours at a time, "reading a paper" as he positions his face completely towards me at all times. Then he comes up to the counter and says things like "you work all the time!" or "sure is raining outside!" and then I have to
1) glance at him,
2) glance away disapprovingly, and
3) grunt
to show him that the only reason I reply to him is my $7/hour.
I despise him. I almost threw up today because he was watching me so much. So when I was about to go on my break, I called stupid Krotov to see if he could come pretend to be my big intimidating boyfriend and walk me out of the store. He couldn't because he had to paint his nails because he's a weener.
Then I called Katherine to see if she could get Eddie to come in and do it, but I didn't feel I could adequately describe the favor I needed in a voicemail message, so I hung up before I could even try.
So I snuck out the back way and got some terrible french fries at Wendy's and drove back to the store. I made two or three drivers pretty pissed off on my way back by DOING NOTHING WRONG. Then at work, I hid in the back for a while and when I came out, the guy was gone.
And I finally stopped needing to throw up.
This is why I need a real boyfriend - to scare off the miserable fifty-year-old braces-men who stare at me for hours at a time and make me want to throw up
AND THEN DIE.
Say goodnight, gracie
A cowgirl waitress.
And I'm not trying to be cute - that's what I wanted to be. My cousin Ali and I were going to open a restaurant in...Nevada? and we'd wear cowboy boots and be waitressing extraordinaires.
But why?
Well here's the long and short of it, guys: when I'm sweeping and mopping at the store, I have a lot of time to think about why I think things. And here's what I came up with:
WAITRESS = unquestionable femininity. "Look at me, I'm a waitress, I have a ponytail, I can carry eight pizza pies with one hand and hardly break a sweat, and then you tip me. I'm so pretty!"
COWGIRL = ...cool, duh. But doesn't it smack of lesbianism?
no! Because I'm also a waitress! A girly waitress! So by being a cowgirl waitress, I get to:
a) wear cowboy boots
b) live the life of a cowboy who just doesn't give a shit
c) carry around large amounts of food in one hand (and therefore constantly impress people with a skill that comes second-nature to me)
d) live outside the law
So it looks like that's what I'm going to be aiming for in about three years. I need to call Ali to see if she's still on board.
ALSO
there is a man with adult braces who stalks me at work. He sits in the ONE stupid easy chair in the cafe for four or five hours at a time, "reading a paper" as he positions his face completely towards me at all times. Then he comes up to the counter and says things like "you work all the time!" or "sure is raining outside!" and then I have to
1) glance at him,
2) glance away disapprovingly, and
3) grunt
to show him that the only reason I reply to him is my $7/hour.
I despise him. I almost threw up today because he was watching me so much. So when I was about to go on my break, I called stupid Krotov to see if he could come pretend to be my big intimidating boyfriend and walk me out of the store. He couldn't because he had to paint his nails because he's a weener.
Then I called Katherine to see if she could get Eddie to come in and do it, but I didn't feel I could adequately describe the favor I needed in a voicemail message, so I hung up before I could even try.
So I snuck out the back way and got some terrible french fries at Wendy's and drove back to the store. I made two or three drivers pretty pissed off on my way back by DOING NOTHING WRONG. Then at work, I hid in the back for a while and when I came out, the guy was gone.
And I finally stopped needing to throw up.
This is why I need a real boyfriend - to scare off the miserable fifty-year-old braces-men who stare at me for hours at a time and make me want to throw up
AND THEN DIE.
Say goodnight, gracie
posted by Becky at 10:23 PM
2 Comments:
that is the best story I've heard...well today at least. Crazy! Maybe you can flick off old-braces-man sometime. :-P What is it with weird guys staring at you, that Indian guy at Sleater-Kinney and now braces man. When looking for a boyfriend though, make sure it's someone who WOULD walk you out of starbucks or whatever. If it was pratt, he would blame the man's staring on you. Ehh. ok this was a long comment.
Becky I was bored at work so I checked you out and that is a really really good story. I like the part about Mark... because it's true. Good luck with that random guy. You can start making his coffee really nasty. And sorry about those Wendy's fries.
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