Just a normal night, little more than a week ago, Kiwi and I were working. Everything seemed to be going quietly. I had about three tables to start my night with, and for the most part, it looked as if the night would be calm.

Two guys about my age came in, and it didn’t take long to figure out that Guy1 was relatively drunk, and Guy2 was his sober driver. The usual banter occurred when I tried to take their order.

Guy1, being drunk, had a little difficulty keeping his words in order while telling me what he wanted. Guy2 and I just shared a few laughs over this, and for a while, that was the most remarkable thing that happened.

Business carried on as usual. I served my other tables their food, drink refills were given, checks were handed out. When it came time to check on the two guys, things began to get interesting.

Guy2 was finished eating, so I picked up his plate and asked Guy1 if he wanted to finish his. He’d only managed to make it about half way through, but he told me that he was going to finish.

Then, before I could walk away, he said he wanted to ask me a question. What followed was a little confusing, but between his stuttering and repeated sentences, we eventually got through a whole conversation. I’ll recount the easy version, because ultimately, all you really need to know is what the end result was.

Guy1 :Can I ask you a question?

Me: Sure.

Guy1: I’m not trying to hit on you, I swear.

Me: Okay…

Guy1: I mean, I should. Look at you! You are someone that I should hit on, but realistically… I mean look at me. I know what I look like in a mirror. A guy like me would never stand a chance with a girl like you, but I should always try. But I’m just too afraid to actually do it.

Me: (trying to push things along) So what exactly was your question?

Meanwhile, his friend is just sitting there, with this dead serious look on his face. He doesn’t offer any smile, or a laugh. He just watches his friend talk.

Guy1: Okay. I have two options for tonight. Option 1: I go home, after emptying my bank account. Completely emptying it, like I know I’m going to die tomorrow and nothing matters. Then I go home, and do vast amounts of hard drugs. OR, option 2: I go home, tail between my legs, and just give up on everything.

Of course, this was the complete OPPOSITE of what I was expecting. The idea that he was going to ask for my number had been the first thought, and then maybe he was going to ask if I had a boyfriend.

But no, this kid starts asking me if he should go home and do a ton of drugs.

Guy1: So what do you think I should do?

Me: I think, that maybe, you should just go home. And revisit those options when you wake up and are sober.

At this point, my table a few booths over has gotten my attention. The lady keeps looking over her shoulder at me. Repeatedly, like she’s waiting for something. Using her as an excuse, I quickly walk away from the boys and check on my other table.

Go figure, the lady doesn’t actually need anything. So she was either listening to the conversation, or just being really weird and looking all over the place, but only focusing in my general direction.

Either way, I walk off and take the empty dishes from Guy2 to the kitchen. Without anything else to do, returning to the two guys to check on them again is pretty much the only option.

Having dropped their check off already, I see that they’ve placed money on top of the check. There’s a fair amount of $20 bills sitting there, so I figured the guys were just pulling money of their pockets in preparation for leaving. Guy1 has finally finished his food, so I try asking him if he’s done.

His response is to point to the check and tell me that it’s all for me. I just stared at him in disbelief for a moment. I can clearly see all the bills, and they are all $20s.

Me: “That’s way too much for your check.”

Guy1: Don’t worry, it’s just a bunch of $1s in the middle. Take it.

Me: (Picking up the money, I fan it out for him to see) Those are not $1s. Seriously, I can’t take this much money from you.

Guy1: Please, I want you to take all the money. It’s your tip.

Me: Really, I can’t take it. I’d feel really weird taking this money from you.

Guy1: If you don’t take that money, bad things are probably going to happen.

The way he said that was not threatening at all. It was just a statement, which he hoped would convince me to take the extra money. Remembering his earlier question, I turned to his friend who was STILL being silent.

Me: If I don’t take this money, is he going to go home and do drugs?

Guy2: Yeah, probably. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas style.

Having seen bits of the movie, I understood that to mean lots and lots of drugs. When given the choice between sending someone home to do drugs, and taking an uncomfortable amount of money, it’s not hard for me to decide.

Taking the check and the money, I thanked the guy profusely and went to the register. Guy1 had given me $100 to cover a $14 check.

It goes without saying, $86 is the best tip I’ve ever gotten. Especially on such a small check. Why giving me that money would keep him from emptying his bank account, I’ll never know. But he was drunk, and his logic wasn’t at it’s best.

Regardless, it was a really awesome way to start my night.

There are, of course..

..regular customers who have been eating at my diner since before I started working there. Probably before I even began eating there (which was a solid every-night-for-a-year thing and couple-times-a-week thing for roughly two years BEFORE that….).

One man in particular works Monday through Friday, and comes in just about every morning. He has a favorite table, and always has the same thing. Cup of coffee, glass of water, short stack of pancakes. Occasionally, I think sausage might be involved but I can never remember.

He’s a nice man, always smiling and waving to me when he walks inside. Then he takes his seat, and sits quietly while looking out the window. Occasionally, I wonder over and talk to him and we make fun of each other.

This man has always come in after Lady, and as far as I can tell, she’s really the only one who has ever served him. (I could be wrong, but since Lady comes in earlier than the rest of the day shift, it’s probably true.) Sometimes, he comes in and Lady doesn’t see him right away, maybe while she’s taking an order or doing something in the kitchen.

No big deal,

I make sure to tell her when ever he comes in. “Lady, A-Man is here.” His name starts with an ‘A’, hence ‘A-Man’. Of course, I refer to him by his real name when at work.

However, back when I first started to see him, I wasn’t there on a regular basis during the weekday mornings. Mostly I was working on weekends, and when I was there during the week, I was always the one to leave early. So, when attempting to let Lady know that he was there, I… Didn’t always remember his name correctly.

A few weeks went by where I alternated between two different names, both starting with an ‘A’. Lady eventually began to tease me, and it became an inside joke between the two of us every morning. In the long run, all the jokes about it grilled his real name into my memory, but that didn’t stop me from calling him the wrong name on purpose.

For a while,

A-Man had no clue what was going on. He just sat quietly, staring out the window and watching the early morning traffic. Eventually, one morning, after a joke with Lady, I dared her to call him by the name I used to mistake as his.

Lady laughed, of course. She’s always quick to laugh, but she walked over without any hesitation and did it. Unfortunately, they were no where near me when this happened, so his reaction is a mystery. Lady might have explained the joke to him, she might not have. I never asked.

This ultimately led to my best decision ever. Every time I see A-Man in the morning, I turn to Lady and give her a new name to call him. The names always start with an ‘A’, and the same name is never repeated.

It took a few weeks (since I’d only see him one or two mornings a week), for him to catch on that I was the one doing the naming. One morning, he came in the door, stopped next to me and crossed his arms. “What’s my name today?”

Thus began the naming, and it is quite interesting. Sometimes, I follow A-man to his table and wait for Lady to come out. I’ll pretend to introduce them, using his new name. Other times, I tell her as she walks by, or I call it out to him as he sits down. Every time he smiles, and makes some sort of joke about the name. If he can’t think of a joke, he just laughs and shakes his head.

A few months went by where we didn’t see each other at all. My schedule had changed, and I just wasn’t there during any weekday mornings. When my shifts finally picked up again, he walked in and stopped. We both looked at each other, kind of stunned. Like we’d forgotten about each other. Following him to his table was the only option I had after that, and we spent a good half hour or so talking about what we’d been up to.

This morning,

I finally moved on and made a second list for him. They are all ‘B’ names, and some of them are really good. By the time I reach ‘Z’, I imagine he really will have had 1000 different names…

Watching someone knock over a drink is a pretty common occurrence, especially when you’re serving 40-60+ beverages a night. Chances of this happening only increase when the customers tend to be more than a little drunk.

Even if you don’t get to watch it, chances are you’ll hear it. A sudden silence falls for a few seconds, the ‘tat tat tat’ of plastic bouncing off a floor or the thud of it hitting the table. The tinkering of scattered ice as it slides across the surface of a table. If anyone at the table is the kind to tease their friends, there’s a collective “OOOOOHHHH!!” as the poor person with wet pants jumps up and throws their arms in the air.

What is the deal with throwing arms in the air as the drink soaks into your pants? Is your water going to turn into flesh dissolving acid? Because you certainly act like your legs are about to fall off. The only thing more amusing than this reaction, is when the person simply sits there, absorbing the mess like a giant sponge.

Once, I accidentally dropped a water across the table while in a rush. It mostly stayed on the table, failing to fall into the laps of the unsuspecting people sitting there. Luckily, it was two friends of mine, and they were more amused than anything else. One of my Husbands, and his friend Bench, so both of them just laughed and threw there napkins into the mess. They even tried to clean it up for me. It was almost as horrifying as the time I accidentally threw sausage at a customer. I did NOT know that person, and I kind of just froze for a moment, mortified.

Greasy meat in little monkey dishes can be tricky, you know.

Pitcher came in a few nights ago, along with two of his friend’s I’ve never met. The fourth kid at his table was The Really Annoying Kid (who later became The Tolerable Kid). But due to his eating habits, I’ve decided to rename him Pickles. Anyway…

Coming out of the kitchen, I turned to check on the table. Just in time, I watched Pickles swipe his hand through the air while talking, and swiftly brush his water directly into his lap. Not missing a beat, I turned on my heel mid-step and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Returning with a towel, I found Pitcher and his friends in hysterics, barely able to breathe because they were laughing so hard. Pickles had, in the few seconds of my absence, stood up and walked a few feet away from the table. Why he had to walk so far, I don’t know… There was water on the floor, but it’s not like it had any time to turn into that flesh dissolving acid.

So there is Pickles, bent over and leaning with a hand on some booth for support. Almost like he’d been kicked in the man parts. To tease him, I stood by his seat and held a towel out in the air for him.

With an amusing look of torment and shame, he just held his hand out, hoping I’d walk the towel to him. Apparently, the water had been really cold and it wasn’t much of a pleasant experience for him. He even attempted to hold the jean material away from his body, but for some reason sticking his hand in his pants was the best way he could go about doing it. That didn’t help us stop laughing.

I was nice, I walked the towel to him. It was hard to refuse, he looked like a lost little puppy.

I spent the next few minutes hovering around the table, wiping up water and drying the seat so Pickles could sit down again. The best part was, after attempting to dry his pants, Pickles stuck the towel in his shirt like a giant napkin bib. The towel was mostly supported by the chain/necklace-thing he’d been wearing.

Without any thought, he picked up his cake and stood there, eating it. Of course, that was funny to watch too. Tall kid, giant white towel for a bib over top of his all black sweater. Standing in the aisle, eating cake like it was normal.

Occasionally he helped me to wipe up water off the floor by kicking a towel around with his shoe. I think he’s the first person to ever help dry the floor… Sure. Customers might help you dry the table, but they never touch the floor.

Pitcher decided that it was karma, for Pickle’s unusual and frequent use of profanity that night. Every few sentences, he had managed to shout out some dirty word that hadn’t been necessary. Those particular friends are usually well behaved, both verbally and physically. But Pickles had been in a slightly rebellious mood, encouraged by Pitcher’s constant attempts to make him stop.

I guess the water decided to take matters into it’s own hands. Watch out! The toppling glass might aim for you next time.

Or several of them, because Meatball seems to be a never ending source of funny.

Of course, sometimes there are serious things that happen to Meatball. Even considering the seriousness of their nature, inevitably, they turn into something funny. For instance, he had some dental work done. (It’s never fun to have dental work, so that is the serious thing.) When he came to work afterwards, he proudly walked around, smiling as wide as possible, and asked, “Have you seen my new furniture?” Or, “Do you like the new furniture?”

At work the other night, he asked me to clean up his only remaining table so that he could leave. No problem, it was only a single person reading a book. Happy to help him, I told him it was okay and to go home.
Shortly after, the phone rings. Expecting a take out order, I rushed to the phone with my checkbook in hand. “Good morning, [insert town name] Diner. How can I help you?”

The familiar voice of Meatball filters through the phone line as he makes a joke in greeting. I laugh, ask him what’s going on. Figuring that he maybe left something behind, or realized he forgot to clean something, I waited to see what he was calling for.

“Where’s Momma T?”

“She’s in the bathroom.”

“Oh.. Hey, do you know which arm is supposed to go numb when you think you’re having a heart attack?”

What? … WHAT???? Shock of course is what I felt, and I quickly told him it’s the left arm.

“Oh.. Ok thanks.” He hung up.

I of course went into panic mode, and waited for Momma T to be done in the ladies room. Soon as she came out, I called across the dining room to her, and told her about the phone call. Worried, her first response was to pull out her cell phone and call him up.

I vaguely heard her end of the conversation, but was distracted with RedCoat and Tiny, who were in to eat with a friend. Some time passed, and Momma T never really said anything about it.

I can only assume that Meatball is okay, and that he gave me a panic induced heart attack for no reason. You never know when it comes to him. But, on the off chance that he isn’t feeling well….

GET BETTER SOON MEATBALL!!

When I got to work, everything was the same. Average, run of the mill, nothing to really speak of. Jr. A tossed me her last check, which happened to belong to a kid I went to high school with. Shortly after, TBS came in with his friend, and then eventually, Drunky joined them.

I would like to take credit for the nickname Drunky, but I will be fair. Drunky came prenamed. Drunky was fun. Loud, obnoxious, funny. The only way I can really describe him effectively is to say that he’s my favorite type of customer. Able to take my friendly sarcasm with a smile and make his own witty comebacks.

Having come in on a few of Kiwi’s shifts to hang out, I had a pretty good idea of what the night would be like. (And I was pretty spot on, too.) But what I didn’t expect, was the extra bit of excitement that came along later.

This particular shift held an air of foreboding, because my second table of the night had Puppy and his date. I haven’t had reason to mention him yet, because Puppy had already come and gone before I started writing this blog. So, few of you understand Puppy.

Puppy is a 20-something male. Puppy is, to say it nicely, a bit socially awkward. His specialty is to show up somewhere alone, ‘make’ friends, and hang out for several hours. His method of ‘making’ friends? Pick a random table of people who he barely knows, sit down, and intrude. Regardless of their fondness for him, he will hang around, make awkward conversation, and hang on for dear life like a leech. Several hours later, if the table of people hasn’t found a good excuse to escape with, they generally stare at me with giant eyes of fear, begging me to save them somehow.

Sadly, I can not always save these people. Their only escape is to go home and pray he doesn’t follow them.

I could try to express my distaste of this person, but I’m not sure I could ever put it into words effectively. I can really only say, that he could disappear from town forever and I would probably throw a party to celebrate.

And celebrate like there was no tomorrow.

Anyway, now that you kind of understand how I can’t stand this kid…. Puppy showed up with some girl, a miracle in itself, shortly after my shift began. Knowing his habits, I dreaded the upcoming hours because I knew he would be there for a long time, and I knew he’d more than likely be obnoxious, as always.

Even greater in miracle scale than his showing up with a girl, was the miracle that Puppy never left his seat. For the first time I can remember, EVER, he did not walk around. He did not wonder aimlessly, looking for a table to leech to. He did not invade my visiting friends, he did not make me avoid him. He did not piss anyone off.

Of course, it took three or four hours to learn that he wasn’t going to bother anyone. I spent the first half of my shift worried about him, and was fully convinced the entire shift was just going to suck. Even my friends cowered, in fear, waiting the inevitable.

I spent my time talking to Tiny and RedCoat while attending to the random customers who wondered in. It was late enough to assume that nothing exciting was going to happen, and I started to wonder about what I wanted to eat. While walking past the front window, I happened to look outside and notice several boys smoking.

I recognized one as BuJu. He smiled and waved at me, because it was the first time he’d been back since having left to live in California. Knowing that RedCoat and BuJu knew each other, I called out to her.

“I think you’re about to know some people outside,” I warned her.

I don’t think she heard me, because as the boys filtered inside, her face dropped and she adapted a general look of surprise.

I think my face matched hers, because I hadn’t seen a couple of these boys in a long time, and I hadn’t expected to see any of them ever again. What made things more interesting, was Sober Guy. As the group filled in a table at the back of the room, Sober Guy sat down next to Tiny and started talking to RedCoat.

He immediately started asking RedCoat, while pointing his thumb at me, if I was the one who was going to be serving them. Why he asked her, I don’t know. Since I was standing right there. Of course, being me, I spoke up and answered the question for him.

“I’m the only one working. So yeah.”

He looked up at me, as if seeing me for the first time, and started to smile nervously. He quickly pointed out that he was the only sober one in the group, and started to apologize in advance for his friends.

I just laughed. I’ve heard that speech a million times, and I know I’ll hear it a million times more. But I quickly assured this guy; I recognized a few faces at the table and I knew that they weren’t going to bother me.

Let’s forward on a little bit, to the next interesting bit of this experience. I’ve already brought the food out, and mostly, everyone is pretty close to being done. I went to the table to check on them, and see if they wanted anything else.

A conversation started with BuJu about the side cup of mayo he’d gotten, and how there was so much of it. I laughed, of course, because I love mayo and could eat a whole jar of it on my food. (Not off a spoon. THAT is gross.) Even though I was talking to BuJu, as happens so frequently with drunks, one of them keyed in on the conversation and brought the whole group’s attention to me.

“How much mayo can you eat?” asked the kid with the broken(?) hand.

Me: “Depends on what I’m eating it with.”

Broken hand: “What’s some of the things you eat mayo with?”

Me: “Well, do you want the really normal one, or the gross food?”

A few of them started to say normal, and then as their drunk minds processed what I said, they quickly started to demand the gross.

“I eat pickles with small globs of mayo.” I will justify this now. Pickles with mayo on them is just the same as putting pickles and mayo on a sandwich. Only, without the sandwich.

Of course, the group laughed and acted as any other drunks would. Like this was the most amazing thing ever. Someone, I’m not sure who, informed me “that kid down there is going to love you.” I turned to look at the kid in question, and he was smiling at me. I guess he eats pickles with mayo too, I don’t really know. The reason for why he was going to love me was lost in the gibberish.

Either way, the kid in question started talking to me. “I’m going to love you like that guy loves that girl in The Notebook.” He used their names, but I don’t remember what they are.

“I’ve never seen that movie.”

He freaked out a little when I said that, and then named some other movie I’ve never seen before. Finally, he relented with an old classic. “Fine, The Titanic. You have seen THAT, right?”

I laughed, because of course I have.

“Fine. I’m going to love you like Leo loves Rose.” I didn’t bother to correct him that the character’s name was Jack. I had something better.

“So, you’re going to potentially knock me up, and then go die?” I said this with a smile, because I knew it was funny.

The drunks thought it was funny too, and they all started freaking out. RedCoat managed to hear me across the room, and her table started laughing as well. It was my greatest moment of the entire night, and I’ll never forget it.

This kid, let’s call him Titanic, proceeded to spend the rest of his time there making jokes about how I was Rose, floating on the door, and he was ‘Leo’, dying in the water. Pretty amusing, I thought. And so did everyone else because we had many jokes to banter about.

At one point, there as an incident with pepper and I sneezed. Without missing a beat, Titanic threw his arms in the air. “Rose is allergic! Quick, get her on the door!” I think RedCoat liked that one the most, because she was still laughing about it a few hours later. (Okay, I laughed about it driving home.)

During all this hoopla of excitement and Titanic jokes, the red head with a deep voice that didn’t seem to match him started to act up. A few of the things he did: Drop his pants, press his butt to the door (guess who got to clean the door?), and come back inside to steal my TV remote. To name a few.

That little event I missed, because I had been elsewhere cleaning off a table. RedCoat, ever faithful as she is, told me about the kid taking the remote. So, quickly, I ran outside and demanded that I get my remote back. The red headed kid insisted that I close my eyes, but being drunk, he turned around and started walking away without waiting for me to follow his demands.

Turns out, BigRed took the remote and threw it into the street. Why? I don’t know. He was drunk. He picked up the various pieces from the street and brought them back. Surprisingly, the thing remained together, and the only piece missing was a battery. BigRed tried to blame the kid with the broken hand, but I knew better.

His mouth decided to take revenge for me, because in the middle of his trying to blame his friend, a large amount of drool escaped his mouth and dribbled down to his shirt.

By the time that things wound down and everyone cleared out, BuJu came up to me to say goodbye. He apologized for his friends and told me that he cleaned up the mess as best he could.

That little sweetheart gathered all the trash up on the table for me, and moved all the empty glasses down to one end. He literally cleared the table for me, so that all I had to do was carry the stuff into the kitchen and wipe the table down. (And sweep up the mess of pepper that had been poured everywhere.) That group had been so much fun, I couldn’t even be mad about it.

~~~~~~

Edit: Almost a week later…

It’s come to my attention that this kid, was indeed, a bit more destructive than I had thought. So I feel obligated to list the further misdemeanors here…

Broken cover to the heat/air controls.

Toilet broken. (pump inside tank removed and thrown in trash)

Paper Towel cover? I think was broken?

Hand soap destroyed and all over.

^^^^

Might I mention, those above things all occurred in the men’s bathroom? I’m terribly sorry, but I’ve never ventured into the bathroom for the men so understandably, there was no way I’d have figured that stuff out.

Well, there was that one time I went in. I had gotten curious about what that bathroom really looked like. But that was months ago.

Anyway. I can only imagine what that drunk was doing with all those things in the bathroom. So. I’ve come up with an excuse for him, though I refuse to actually let him use it.

Upon entering the bathroom to use the facilities, the drunken BigRed had the following incident:

Being drunk, he probably peed on his hands.

Wanting to wash his hands, he moved over to the sinks, where the soap dispenser proceeded to explode.

Desperate to clean the mess, in his drunken daze, he attempted to use the paper towels before realizing that there was just too much soap.

The drunken idea to use water to rinse it all away came to mind, and BigRed turned to the toilet (forgetting that we have a very nice sink). Mind clouded with his drunkness, the poor thing pulled the rubber stopper from the water tank, believing this to be the source of the water.

Upon discovery that it was not, he deemed the stopper as useless and threw it in the trash.

Final attempt: Broke open the locked temperature case so he could adjust the air levels, in hopes that all of his mess would dry up and evaporate. Because, you know, drunk shenanigans and failure of life hold the same qualities of water…

At least, I can only imagine that’s how his experience in the bathroom went. I wasn’t there to witness any of it, but it seems to be a solid story.

Okay, so Purse Inspections aren’t really conducted. Well, maybe. In a factory or something, before the shipments are packaged and sent off. And when I worked in a clothing retail store, we had to present our purses at the end of shift to ensure we weren’t sneaking off with stolen merchandise.

But in a diner, we don’t really expect any one to run off with a sandwich in their purse. And the boxes of supplies we have are, reasonably, too big to be smuggled away. So, as a general rule, everyone just trusts one another when it comes to purses and the belongings inside.

We have these sections of empty cabinet space under the counter at work, and anyone who wishes to leave their personal things underneath while working are welcomed to use them. Myself and my coworkers rely on faith in the honor system when we leave our things under there. Don’t touch my stuff, I won’t touch yours. And for the most part, it works really well.

Until the Purse Inspector came along. She was one of those coworkers that I couldn’t develop a real opinion on for awhile. She started working after I was off the diner shifts, and for the most part, I only saw her in passing during the shift changes. She was friendly, but not to the point that you wanted to stop and have a real conversation.

And most of the time, she just wanted to pack her stuff up and go home as fast as possible. I had no problems with that, because she’d toss me her last table or two. And at that point, all I had to do was pass on the check and collect the tip money. Easy Peasy. :)

After awhile, the Purse Inspector (or PI for short) began to develop a personality.

~”Hey, do you want my tables? Those people are going to sit for a while, and my cab is here.” Take the table for her, customers leave 5 minutes later.

~Rushing through her side work and running out the door without a care for her coworkers. “Oh my cab is here, I have to go!”

~The most redeeming quality was her ability to answer a cell phone at all moments. On the floor, in front of her tables, in the kitchen, out back. It didn’t matter where. Her phone rang, she was answering it.

The reason I am playfully bantering about purses and inspections is because of the following story:

I went to work a weekend or two ago, and a few of my coworkers were lingering around the register. Spring Chicken was there, Jr. A, and Poppy (who you would know as the coworker who locked her keys in the car from my Key Fishing story). Monster in Law turned to me and started asking why several of my coworkers didn’t have a nickname yet.

“I haven’t had a reason to write about them.”
“Well, you better start making up some names for [insert a few real names].”

The tone she used made me think that maybe I was in trouble. Like, maybe a few of the girls were upset that I hadn’t included them yet. So cautiously, I poked around the subject a bit before figuring out the full story.

The PI had been caught that night, ‘inspecting’ Poppy’s purse. I use the ‘marks’ around the word ‘inspecting’ because, really, I’m trying to be nice about the fact that she was really thieving her way through the contents.

After questioning the girls about this incident, I eventually figured out the full story. The PI had been seen by the Monster, rummaging through Poppy’s purse. Ok, so I already explained that part. Essentially, all that is left to tell is that poor Poppy found herself missing a few things, which I guess the PI hadn’t felt compelled to return after she was caught. (Or maybe she did. This detail hadn’t been made clear to me.)

Poppy was moping around a little bit, understandably, but she handled the situation with a grace that it unique to her. Holding her head high, she just took the event in stride and tried to stay on the positive side. How she does it, I’ll never know. Had it been me, I would probably have screamed in the PI’s face a bit before demanding my things back. And possibly, all her tips in exchange for not rearranging her face.

There isn’t really much of a point to me telling this story. Monster said I should write about it, and give some more nicknames out. I’ve spent the time since that night trying to think of a funny/creative way to write about this, but there wasn’t much I could do.

I suppose, I wrote this because they wanted me to. And hey, who can complain? I’ll take it as a compliment. “OMG this horrible thing happened tonight at work. But I want you to write about it because apparently, your blog is just amazing.” (Okay, so no one said that. But they are thinking it. )

;)

~~~~

~~~~

Revised edition:

A few nights after I wrote this, I was at work. Of course I was at work, because that’s where most of this material comes from.

Poppy was staying late after her shift, and sitting on her cell phone, she read the whole post above. ^^^ Up there. Yes. If you haven’t read it already, you’ve done something wrong and need to scroll up to read it.

Anyway.

Poppy read the story and turned to me, laughing. “Oh, I did yell at her.”

Apparently, upon learning about the Inspection, Poppy did get a little upset. There was yelling. There was chasing. There was a demand for a Bra Inspection. Which, by the way, involves the bra wearer to remove their bra to make sure they aren’t hiding anything.

Poppy even went so far as to do a little shouting in front of the many tables present. And then dumped the PI’s purse out for a little inspection of her own, where everything was laid out across the counter.

And of course, in true Poppy fashion. She later turned around and apologized for yelling at her in front of all the tables.

I’ve done it. It was embarrassing, sure. I tried not to tell anyone about it. I’m sure your mom and dad have done it, no matter how awesome and organized they may seem. Maybe your husband or your sister, or your children. I’d bet that 100% of all car owners have done it. At least once.

If anyone makes it through life without locking their keys in their life, even once, I’d like to meet them. Just so I can look them right in the eye and call them a liar.

The first time I ever did it, I was in a rush to clean a house. Back then, I worked Saturdays cleaning vacation condos between the check out of one family, and the check in of another. Not a glorious job, but it paid pretty well, cash handed over at the end of the afternoon. And it was only one day out of the week.

This particular day, the lady who ran the cleaning business had trusted me enough to let me go clean a place by myself. And behold! The magnificent me locked my keys and all the cleaning supplies in my car!!!! Yay me!

To make a long story short, the place had a supply of it’s own cleaning products. I used those while I waited for an hour for the roadside assistance guy to show up. After that, I have been more than paranoid about my keys. There was a second time this happened to me, withing the last year, but that wasn’t so much my fault. I had hooked the keys to the belt loop of my jeans, but either I missed or the hook was broken, because they ended up on the seat while the doors slammed shut.

In both cases, I had someone who was able to come out and help me. My mom brought me my spares for the second incident, even though she took longer than that guy from the roadside assistance company. But at least I had help.

I’ve come across two people so far, who haven’t had any help at all… Except for me. Not that I’ve got a kit or anything to help me do it. Because I don’t. I have the most random tools ever.

The first time, I was at work and one of the girls leaving the dinner shift couldn’t find her keys. There was a large scale search for a good hour or so, before everyone gave up and declared the inevitable. She’d locked them in her car.

And the gist of this story, is basically, that there were no spares and there was no one she could call to help. So, instead, we set out on an adventure to try and get her keys back. Luckily for us, it was a pretty dead night at work, so Kiwi was okay inside by herself.

It had to have been winter, because I remember it was pretty cold outside. I went in at some point to get my sweatshirt. Being the creative weirdo that I am, I decided that we could use the roadsigns I have in my car to help prop the door open.

Please, don’t ask any questions about these signs. If you do, I’ll pretend I don’t know you, or what you’re talking about.

Anyway. The signs were pulled out, the wire hanger was found and untwisted, and the battle began. I failed. The girl from dinner shift failed. Lion failed. Our friend who doesn’t work with us failed. We just all failed. It was not happening.

Eventually, we decided that this girl was going home in a taxi, and that if anything were to happen where I got her car open, I’d just give her a call. And wouldn’t you know it, a truck load of my BMXers came to eat. And being the handy-dandy-tool freaks that they are, we set out again.

It took about five of us, two road signs, a turned over recycling trash can, and a thick piece of wire from some tomato plant to finally pull it off. And oh! We hooted and celebrated and we won! We got the door open and I got the keys! It was a victory to cherish forever!

But of course, it couldn’t be the only incident to happen. Someone else had to come along and one up this story.

A regular customer of mine, forever known as Miss Tea, was in one night with a friend. It was about two or so in the morning, and she’d also locked her keys inside of her truck. The best part was that you could see her keys on the seat. And the driver side window was cracked, but not enough to pass a hang through.

I’d asked if she could call her parents and get spare keys, but she was afraid to wake them up and make them mad. So then, I asked if she wanted a ride to her house so she could just get the spares herself.

Nope. Her house key was on the set of keys in the truck. Which, as I said, was locked.

And she didn’t think there were any unlocked windows. So, we were left with nothing to do. I must have said something about finding someone to help her, because the next thing I know, Miss Tea is all excited.

“I did what you said,” she said with a smile. She held up her iPhone. “I went all creeper on Facebook and found someone who was awake.”

This someone in question happens to be a member of the BMXers, who was there during the previous incident. He was on his way over with a hanger and a few flash lights. His name can be Skinny, until I think of something better. (Why? He wears girl pants, that’s why.)

So after a little while I finish up with the last table that I have for the moment, and go outside to check on things. Miss Tea’s friend is camped out in the bed of the truck, and Miss Tea is pacing around. Skinny had arrived, along with his hanger, and is currently fishing around through the crack in the window.

And what is the first thing I see? Skinny, wearing pants cut off into an awkward style of shorts, with large ripped holes in the ass. And his bright red boxers sticking out of those holes, highlighting his (to my surprise) rather round butt cheeks.

“Nice shorts.” I walked to where he was standing.

“Thanks,” he answered, with that goofy smile of his.

I couldn’t resist, and took a few pictures.

But then it was down to business. Skinny tried fishing the keys up by pulling the sweatshirt they were sitting on through the window. As expected, the keys fell onto the seat. BUT! We got the sweatshirt, and Miss Tea’s headphones!

Then, I tried fishing the keys out with the hanger. And success!! I had them! And in my excitement, I started doing a little dance, and promptly dropped the keys out of sight and onto the floor.

I FELT LIKE AN ASSHOLE.

A large amount of time was spent trying to loop the hanger around the door handle so we could pull it open. That wasn’t working. We spent a good half hour or so out there trying different things, until finally, I thought I could see the keys after all.

So I tried again, and got the keys up close, and they fell once more. Skinny tried catching the keys with his fingers through the crack in the window, but our timing was off. Until the last attempt, where he actually got the keys and it was all over with.

THEN I celebrated again, feeling as though I had redeemed myself. And ever since then, I have kept that hanger in my backseat. Just in case someone ever needs it again. (Miss Tea has told me that she locked her keys in the truck again, while at the diner. But I wasn’t working so I missed this event.)

Sometimes when I come into work, I have the pleasure of hearing various stories about the girls and how their nights went. The awesome tables they had, or maybe the guy that tipped $3 on a $65 check.

Whatever the case may be, I’m usually entertained.

So tonight, when I came into work, a particular story surfaced, but I don’t exactly remember how it came to be… Anyway.

The Monster-in-Law told me about some couple that came in. A guy and a girl, who had been out drinking somewhere. I’m not sure if the guy was drunk, but the Monster (Let’s shorten her name, it’s a little long) and the server of this couple were both under the impression that at least the woman was drunk.

I’m not sure if other people were involved, but that hardly matters. It’s still a funny story.

The couple order a bunch of food, starting with appetizers and finishing with some dinners. I’m assuming the dinner part, I just heard they ordered a bunch of food.

At one point, they were eating Mozzarella Sticks and mid bite, the woman’s tooth broke. I mean literally, a chunk of her tooth broke off. Understandably, the woman was a little upset. I’m sure if a piece of my tooth broke, hell if it even cracked, I’d be upset. More embarrassed than anything, really.

If you think about it, how rotted does your tooth have to be for it to break while eating melted cheese?

So according to the story, this broken toothed woman began complaining that her tooth broke in the first place because the mozzarella stick was still frozen. The server, hereby named Spring Chicken, took them away and checked them in the kitchen.

Her findings? Lukewarm cheese that was at the very least, no where near frozen. And I’m going to hope that they were lukewarm because they had been sitting on the table for awhile. :)

So now, not only is there a drunk woman, but she’s missing a tooth and becoming a liar. Sparkling resume for a barfly, if you ask me.

I’m not entirely sure how the conversation went between the Monster and the Tooth. (Monster is in charge.) But I know that Monster is very good at what she does, and can smooth over most situations without breaking a sweat.

However, the Tooth was looking for more than a smooth over. “Aren’t you even going to say sorry?” I can only imagine the strength of will it would take to keep a serious face with this woman. I don’t know what Monster said to that, but I’m sure it was nothing close to what she was thinking.

I’m more curious to know why this woman seemed to think anyone owed her an apology. I understand that it’s upsetting for her, but did anyone here reach into her mouth and yank out part of her tooth? No. Spring Chicken took their order and brought their food, as they requested.

Which brings me to the next part. Remember how I mentioned they ordered a bunch of food? Yeah, they got up and walked out after that, canceling their order. I hope she brushed her teeth when she got home.

And Spring Chicken said it best. “It doesn’t matter what you’re eating. When a tooth is going to go, it’s going. I lost a crown once while eating a kaiser roll.”

Tonight, it’s been more like five hours. It happens, especially this time of year. Summer tourists are gone, returned to their homes with their kids, who have to attend school. College students have gone back to their dorms, and the ones who go to school around here have to pay for their classes, as well as their books. Any one who takes time off in the summer returns to their jobs, or summer workers go home to their own countries.

The end result is slower business. The cost of school supplies and other expenses keep more people at home. New work hours encourage people to climb in bed at more decent times, and to leave the bars early. And it goes without saying, the decrease in population (due to people returning to their homes and native countries), results in far fewer people to begin with.

It lasts for a few weeks, picking up again around Thanksgiving. Family members come to town to visit during the holiday, college students come home during their fall break. A few tourists decide to spend their holidays away. Business picks up again, and then is stabilized for a while until after Christmas and the new year.

Which brings me back to the original topic. Those Tween hours. Each night is a hit or miss. Last night was a hit, having written about twenty checks and making a decent amount in tips. Tonight, is a miss. Six tables, and crap tips.

Most of those tables were in before the bars even closed, but one or two wandered in around three-ish. One of them was Unreasonable Smurf, and we had a nice little visit. I told him about how slow it was here, he told me about almost cutting his fingers off. I know how his stories get sometimes, where he exaggerates according to how moody he might be, but he was mild tonight. And there were some bandage wrappings on his fingers, so I’ll let him go this time and take it all for the truth. :)

But for the most part, I’ve had a chuck of time between two and three, and now, it’s five thirty. Unreasonable Smurf left about four-ish. I’m not sure when anyone for breakfast will wonder in, but I’m going to guess it won’t be until around six. Maybe even seven.

So what do I do with myself? That’s always the big question. I have all this time for the Tween hours, but not that much to do. Sure, I could clean. And I usually do. But there is only so much to clean, since I don’t use that much space in the kitchen. And hopefully, the dinner shift gets all of it’s stuff done without too many surprises for me to find.

But like I said, there is only so much cleaning I can do before I run out of things to do. Except that one time, where I got so bored I cleaned a tv remote with a toothpick.

(Please hold, there is a random strangler. He smells heavily of powdered laundry detergent, and I’m curious if maybe he’s carrying it in his pocket.)

Anyway. Entertainment. There is only so much there that I can accomplish as well. Sure, there are three TV’s here. But I can only watch one at a time, and I can only watch so many infomercials. And after three episodes of Law&Order, they become pretty predictable.

So now what? I have a cell phone. But playing games on it drains the battery, and there is no one awake to talk to. There is a radio system here, but I can’t actually do anything with it. Except turn the volume up and down. But with the tv on, I like to just turn the volume down.

(Please pause, I’ve heard the food order hit the line in the kitchen.)

The most entertainment comes from your friends, when they actually happen to be awake and come in. Most nights, it’s people like Tiny and her group. Tonight, the Card Players were in for awhile.  This is when you pass the time best, because you are distracted and it’s fun.

But as always, they have to leave eventually. Even though they defy conventional sleeping hours, eventually, they get tired. I used to read books. Attempting to play some sort of handheld game was tested once, but there were just too many interruptions for that. And after a while, reading just makes me sleepy. The goal here is to keep myself awake, so I had to give up on books.

Now that I’m writing this blog, I suppose I’ll have something new to do. But I can only make so many posts in a night, before I either get bored or run out of things to say. Then it’ll be back to the great debate. Tv? Chance reading a book? Maybe a friend will wonder in. Maybe dinner shift won’t do a lot of their side work, and I’ll spend the night cleaning. (Though I really hope not.)

Perhaps writing will be my new thing, who knows. But my question to everyone else:

What would you do?

Just this morning, Lion and I were standing in the kitchen by the toast area. I was trying to butter some toast for an order, but instead, I ended up doubled over in laughter.

Why? Well. It is Lion after all. In case you haven’t picked up on it yet, or perhaps I haven’t even explained it in earlier posts, Lion and I tend to trigger the most random fits of giggles.

So I’m standing there, getting ready to butter some toast, and Lion walks over next to me. Just as she does so, Lady Gaga came out from the back. I’m not entirely sure what he did, but he did something involving metal pots and cooking dishes. The end result was a really loud banging/clattering noise.

In that moment, Lion not only knocked a bag of bread on the floor and screamed, but she also dropped to her knees, tucked her head under her hands, and hid behind the toast station.

Let me repeat that. Scream. Knock over bread. Drop to floor. Hide.

Of course, she realized how utterly ridiculous her reaction was within seconds, and we both exploded with loud laughter. What didn’t help her case any is that Lion laughed so hard, she snorted. By this point, I’ve set down my toast and am trying my hardest not to snort as well.

Just as I’ve gotten myself together, I chance a look up and see The Cook and Lady Gaga staring at me like I’m the devil. Lion is still on the floor, and they have no idea that she’s currently hiding. So between bursts of laughter I try to explain what had happened, and they start to laugh as well.

It’s a shame that Lion wasn’t born years ago. Once upon a time, students had to practice Nuclear Bomb Drills where they hid under their desks. I have a feeling she’d be pretty good at them. Not that it would have saved anyone from that kind of bomb, but still.