at Buffalo Kitchen, we have to refer to our customers as "guests." i suppose this means we should all just start throwing words around meaninglessly with complete abandon. hey, you know the big fucking headache i had when i got home from work today? that must have been a "guest" too, right? jesus fucking christ! the idiocy of it all is killing me! today i had my 30 day review and one of the questions the manager was asked to answer on my evaluation sheet was whether or not i was "demonstrating Buffalo Kitchen culture." when i found out the answer was yes, as the glowing review before me read, i felt like i was gonna vom.
it’s not that there is any shame in working as a hostess at a shitty corporate chain restaurant in a mall… it’s just that this is not how i expected to be spending what may be the last year or two of my youth. i’m supposed to be travelling across europe being orally pleasured by twenty-two year-old boys and writing short stories in which they are actually girls with beautiful, shiny hair and they bring me little gifts like handmade paper and vintage perfume decanters filled with exotic spirits. instead i am wearing non-slip shoes from payless called safeTstep 
, answering to attitude-y ninteen year-olds who think i’m old and weird and kind of slow, smiling so hard at complete assholes that my face hurts, and saying things like "NO, thank you for coming in. y’all come back soon!" if this isn’t reason to contemplate ending my life more seriously than i ever have before, i don’t know what is. my only comfort is in certain co-workers who i find to be a sheer delight and the gay dudes i get to ogle all day. being a gay man must be like, just a real giggle. the eye candy alone would be enough to make me wake up each morning looking like a had a banana in my mouth… i meant sideways… not in a sex way. oh, nevermind.
speaking of bananas, i totally bought a banana split off the ice cream truck that terrorizes my neighborhood with a loop of "it’s a small world after all" in which each refrain ends with a cartoon "doiiiiiiing" sound. normally i try to maintain at least somewhat of a facade that i’m not a complete and total fatass, but i had the WORST day at Buffalo Kitchen, the fucking ice cream truck was parked directly in front of my house when i pulled up, and then i saw some happy skinny kid running off with a huge banana split and thought, "that could be me!" i love bananas. did you guys know that? i really do. they are so creamy, yet tart at the same time. bananas are like nature’s ice cream, so what better thing to sandwich between two halves of one than ice cream? ah, sweet redundancy. it makes for poor conversation, but fine desserts.
i didn’t even eat the damn thing. i put it in the freezer to "save it for later" then took it out a couple of hours ago and ate off the then-frozen bananas. oh my god, frozen bananas are even better than regular bananas!
i don’t know why work sucked so bad today. i mean, it is always a sheer humiliation just to put on my uniform, drive there, and enter the restaurant, but the job itself is fairly easy and sometimes even kind of fun(ny). but today sucked so so so bad. i think the worst "guests" come in at lunch during the week. this is because if you think about it, who the fuck goes out to eat in the middle of the day on a weekday? i’ll tell you who, freaks and industry types.
today "wet nap lady" came in again. "wet nap lady" (wnl) comes in with her friend "similar-looking short old 
lady," who distracts the host just enough so wnl can race behind the host stand and grab fistfulls of wet naps before being seated. this is the funniest part. it’s not like she grabs them and runs out the door as she’s leaving. she grabs them in a frenzy, crams them in her handbag, then calmly walks to her table and orders lunch with her friend.
also, today was a day in which EVERYONE who came in wanted a booth or to sit by the window. here are a few tips: they are all booths, technically, and the window looks out onto what is basically a loading dock for the mall stores. today was also a day in which everyone insisted on walking in the exact opposite direction of where i was trying to seat them, saying essentially "no, we want to sit over here…" or made me lead them around the restaurant so they could try out different seats like it was goldilocks and the fricken three bears. look, if you don’t already know this, i am going to explain something to you right now: there is a REASON the host takes you to a certain seat. the servers have certain sections and there is a ROTATION to the seating chart. therefore, unless there is a dead rat or a shit smear on your table, you are going to sit any-damn-where i tell you to, not look at your husband and go, "is this seat okay honey? is it too close to the kitchen?" with your little nose crinkled up.
and another thing, i HATE strollers. NO, we do not have designated stroller parking. NO, i will not park it for you. i say if you are strong enough to make a baby, then squeeze one out, you should be strong enough to carry it around your damn self. this goes for the dads too. wimps. and why must everyone have so many children anyway? do you need four, FOUR screaming, freckled brats? i don’t understand this. if there is one thing i have learned from working at Buffalo Kitchen, it is that white people love to breed just as much as everyone says we mexicans do. one more stereotype, shattered! well, i guess it’s not all bad, then eh?
anyway, i am off work for the next two days. tomorrow i am going to do a bunch of important stuff like staying in my underpants all morning looking for jobs, going to get my hair done and hang out with lacey, then coming home and shaving my lady bits. this is going to be a treacherous feat because i have been getting waxed for so long and don’t really remember how to shave, but i am pretty deep in the red financially and the last thing i need on my plate of reasons not to love me is "huge, out of control bush," so here goes.
