Missing Out — One Angry Waitress

The trouble with waitressing is that you don’t keep the same schedule as nearly everyone else on the planet (leading to the fine truth that nearly all of your friends are servers and the other few just put up with you for some unknown reason). If there’s a concert that you forgot to book off or a party that you wanted to go to, that’s just too bad because your day starts at six in the pm.

I’ve noticed that it’s my server friends that throw a party on a Monday afternoon at 3:30, while the rest of the world is at work we’re unconcerned with the fact that it’s five o’clock nowhere. And though I try to quash the feeling there’s just something a little off about swirling a Paralyzer in full on daylight.

I used to think, back when I was in college, that I had a decent social life; but I was wrong. I was at the bar all the time, but I was working. And while the two seemed very similar to me they weren’t the same. While everyone else was enjoying mulled wine and ugly sweater parties I was saying things like, “Nah, I don’t think we need to cut him off quite yet. He hasn’t thrown up inside the bar or exposed his genitals.” Though later I would find out from the parking lot cameras that the customer in question had been nice enough to urinate on my car.

In all honesty it didn’t used to bother me that much, but now that I’m older I no longer want to miss Dandy Warhols shows on a Tuesday night or have to not attend friend’s birthday parties because I’m working the hours when the rest of the world is relaxing. It’s like I’m on a Swiss time clock and everyone else is wondering why I’m sipping Jagger at seven in the morning (because I’m nearly thirty and haven’t been to bed yet).

When you live with someone that keeps regular hours you notice this more and more. They get up at ten on Saturday and want to go for breakfast and it’s still four am for you and you’ve somehow, in the throes of deep exhaustion, gone to bed with one boot on.

It has happened that I’ve headed home from the bar and ended up pulled over in a check stop explaining why I’m still out at four in the morning smelling like booze when I actually haven’t been drinking any. “Well you see officer, I spilt a tray of drinks on myself.”

“And you actually expect me to believe that?”

“To be honest sir I’m not so sure I even believe it myself.”