Lunatics and Princesses

Okay. Due to massive scheduling conflicts, I'm giving up working at Lucky Moon, and today was my last Saturday. Generally, the idea Saturday is busy, but in such a way as to have everything go smoothly. Of course, this didn't happen, but whatever.

10-ish, and a giant group of people march in. I'm like, Hey, how are you guys, blah blah, and get no response whatsoever. Then they start to place their orders and I notice the accent: Sweden, or wherever. All right, fine. Here's your twenty breakfasts, cafe lattes, cappucinos, and whateverthefuck. Serving them was a pain, just because of the damn rudeness. It's like, Hey? If I've got two plates in my hands, could you get your elbows off the table and get the FUCK OFF YOUR CELL PHONE long enough for me to put it down in front of you? Damn. On top of that, they made a huge mess and got food all over the floor.

Now. Fast forward to when I'm ringing them out. They got what amounted to $100 worth of breakfast, right? All that, and their food was brought out to them in a very quick, timely fashion which is a miracle because there is only ONE cook and TWO spaces for toast in the toaster, and they left a ten cent tip.

Ten cents.

That's fucking obnoxious.

Which brings me to the rantage: all everyone does is bitch about how rude and obnoxious Americans are. I know you don't tip in Europe, or the gratutity is already figured into the check. But here in America, tipping is the most basic social custom you need to know. In fact, it's the only one. People make their living on tips here, and everything else is massively subject to interpretation, short of running around naked.

So next time, look up customs before you go galavanting around. I do. You should too. Or, just don't bitch about rude, obnoxious Americans anymore.

Now we're even,
Feather

Behold the draw of vegetarian chili

Imagine, if you will, a half-filled cafe. As soon as all the orders are taken, one cafe worker wearing a very Max-ish Space Needle T-shirt looks down at her feet for approximately fifteen seconds. When she looks back up, there are at least fifteen people in a line going out the door. Mild panic ensues.

A scene:

"Here's your order, ma'am."
"I ordered soup."
*blinks* "It's right there in the cup, ma'am."
"But I ordered soup."
"It's right there. In the cup."
"Yes, but I ordered soup."
"This is your soup. Ma'am."
"BUT I ORDERED SOUP. WHAT IS THAT?"
"Soup. Enjoy." *runs away*

Should have said: "Shut the fuck up and eat it, fool. You'll like it. I promise. Next time you open your mouth, though, you better be sticking your spoon in it."

Ouch

My wisdom teeth are coming in/acting up again. They hurt so much that they've given me a headache which has morphed into an upset stomach. Quinn helped, though. He stopped by for a little while in between my random crashings. He always makes things better.

Time to sleep. Night, peeps.

Still sick, tired, and pretty much miserable, but it's a temporary version of sick, tired, and pretty much miserable- the kind that can be cured with a day of sleep. At least that's turned the corner.

This is due in large part to my lovely shiny new job. I now work in at the Lucky Moon Cafe, a pretty little place that's very ecclectic, plays NPR on the radio, and pays in cash. Yeehah. Today was my first day, and it rocked. It totally made up for losing the $30 that was left over from the money I lent Jason for opera tickets (read: all the money I had to my name. Gone, in one swell foop. Alas, my pretty chickens.)

Last night was mine and Quinn's eight month anniversary. After much drama, work bullshit, school bullshit, and mad rescheduling, we wound up having a romantic dinner in the living room of the apartment. Ultimately, this made Quinn extremely happy, me extremely blushy, both of us really chatty, and Christie ascended to the level of goddess for putting the whole thing together. Phil helped too- without his manliness we would never have been able to uncork the wine.

However. I have to figure out what's going on tonight. We're taking the bus over to the apartment, but we've got a two hour window minimum before anyone gets home. Right this second, I'd just opt for skipping everything and sleeping, since I'm working on a headache right now. Must make phone calls and figure this out. Must. Must. Must.

Gah.