"All you ever do is work and do calculus"

Yes. That's me. Work and calculus. I didn't really think it was a problem until Andy said that to me one day. It's true. All I do is work and do calculus.

Work.
I just want to take a quick minute and blog about what happened at work on Saturday night. For anyone who doesn't know, I work as a server at a steakhouse. I usually love my job. I love working with people and I love the people I work with. I also realize that not every night is going to be that wonderful night where you leave work with an additional Benjamin in your wallet; and don't get me wrong, it's not all about the money. I have a receipt that a customer returned to me, and all it said on it was "Thanks for great service." For the record, the couple left me a 20% tip, so they weren't the type who were "verbal tippers." I really, really appreciated the note. I still have it in my book and look at it whenever I feel down at work. Saturday, however, I needed more than those words of encouragement.

Storytime.
Well, I guess my Saturday work night started out when I went to leave. I got in my car, started it up, turned up Lady Gaga and put my windows down. (Nice days in Berea, Ohio are hard to pass up.) I back up three feet and my car dies.
Not that it's a really big deal; I always leave a bit early, and my car has done this before. I got it to start up (after quite a few fruitless tries) and parked it back into its spot. Andy took me to work that night. (Thanks, sweetie)

Anyway, I got to work on time by some grace of God. My first table was two guys. Not only were they nice guys, but by some well placed flirting, I made $12 dollars off of that table. *cha-ching*. By another grace of God, my next table was 4 guys. They also drank. And loved me. They even asked my boss to give me a raise. After she refused this, they said she should at least give me paid vacation. (Part-time employers do not get benefits). She told them to tip me well. They did. $16 dollars well. *cha-ching*

My next table was an older couple. A cute older couple, mind you. The guy kind of looked like Mr. Wilson from Dennis the Menace. His wife was one of those cute old ladies. I walked over to their table, introduced myself, got their drink orders and offered appetizers. The guy kind of looked at me and said, "We just sat down, sweetheart" (Or some other endearing term). So I just went back and got their drinks/bread and asked if they were ready to order. They were not so I went back to my business dealing with my other tables. I won't bore you with what went on there, nothing noteworthy.

I went back and got their orders and delivered their salad/chili. Ten or so mins later, my manager, Matt, was chopping up a new salad for the lady at my table. Apparently our romaine was cut too largely for her to eat. Understandable. He took the salad to her and all was well. Their food came up shortly afterwards; I wasn't there to deliver it because I was running someone else's food. I think Matt ended up taking it to the table and they wanted it brought back until they were able to eat it. I took it to them later and, again, it seemed like all was well. When they looked as if they were about done, I walked up and asked if they wanted dessert. They wanted the key lime pie, and the gentleman asked for a box. I went back to the back to get their slice of key lime pie out of the cooler and took it to their table. I removed the lady's plate and asked the man if I could do the same with his. He said no, he would like his box. I apologized and asked if I could get him a glass of water while I was in the back getting his box. He said:

"No. I would like for you to clean our table off. Just forget it, get your manager."

This is the first time this has ever happened to me. In my opinion, the guy was overreacting. Yes, I forgot his box. And yes, he did get free dessert and coffee out of his outburst. But his terrible attitude did little for my self-confidence and self-esteem for the rest of the night. Too bad he was my 3rd table on a Saturday night. I went through a lot more. And to make matters worse, his wife grabbed my arm as they were leaving and as a reply to my "Have a great evening", said in my ear:

"Just get the junk off of the table next time."

I think she might have been trying to make me feel better. But she just made me feel worse. My manager had already talked to me about it. He had already said that the old man was an asshole. And he already told me what happened. And not to worry about it.

Well, dear old lady, there will not be a next time. I will not wait on you again. If I see you and your Mr.-Wilson-look-alike husband I will ask not to be your server.
Because, if I was, I feel that I would have something to live up to, and I do not. I am a great server. I do my job well, and I have tips and previous customers to prove it. I don't have anything to prove to you and your husband.

Calculus.
Yes. I have to do it now.

Not-so-happy St. Patrick's Day

Not that I celebrate St. Patricks Day or anything.

So, my step-mother is supposed to give me her tax info so that I can use it for my FAFSA (or FASFA. I can never remember.) And she has YET to email me the info. If she doesn't email me the info, not only can I not go to B-W next year, I will not be able to attend any sort of school due to financial reasons.

And to top that off-
The boyfriend and I are arguing.
Gah.

Blogging

I'm terrible at it. I obviously do not blog regularly. I want to, but I do not have time. I don't really want to talk about my past anymore. So that's not the direction in which the blog is going to go. I feel that I should blog about spring break and about my job and about my family. maybe tomorrow night after work I will do just that.