Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Control Your Saliva People!

So far today, I have been spat on by three people; been poked in the eye, had maple syrup smeared on my face and granola in my boots.

Now, I realize that in life we cannot avoid certain things... saliva in the face is one of them. Now perhaps it is because I'm a germaphobe that the universe treats me like a magnet for such things. The law of attraction and all that hooha.

Let me explain...

9 am. I arrive at work and one of my fellow waiters is talking to me rather enthusiastically about his night out, he is so excited to tell me his story that he apparently loses all control over his mouth and spits directly onto my eyelid. Blarf. He actually notices he has done this and attempts to wipe it off, (yes it is still sitting there festering), as he sticks his fingers toward my face he accidentally pokes me in the eye making matters worse. He then turns a deep shade of crimson while apologizing and shuffles off.

11 am. I'm serving a customer at the counter, we are at eye level and as he is talking he spits directly into my eye. AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!
I am now completely freaked out and what I want to say is, "Excuse me, you just spit in my fucking eye man, gross"! However, being British, I was obviously taught to hide my emotions, so instead I pretend it didn't happen, as to avoid embarrassing the man. I'm now screaming internally and it feels like this glob of saliva is now burning like acid through my eye and within two seconds I have created mass paranoia that his germs are going through my eye and into my bloodstream. Total overreaction of course, and believe me, part of me knows that (the sane part of course) the OCD, Hypochondriac on my other side remains in total panic.

130 pm. I stand in front of the kitchen next to the food runner. First let me tell you a little something about our food runner.. Not only is he a 5 year old dressed in a 26 year old Mexican body but he is blatantly aware that I have issues with germs and have asked him on many occasions not to touch/grab my hand... or any other body part for that matter.
However, being the child that he is, he seems to gets a kick out of constantly pressing my buttons.... and other things for that matter. So there I am walking over to the kitchen and he wipes his mucky, sticky, maple syrup covered hand down the side of my cheek. MOTHERF***ER!!!!!!!!!!!!
The restaurant is in full swing so there is literally no opportunity for me to run to the loo and wash it off so Im now forced to endure this sticky yucky shit on my face for the next twenty minutes.

3 pm I'm on my way across the restaurant with a bowl of granola and I trip on the stupid slip mat. slip.mat.- a pointless waste of space that is constantly causing more damage than any good. The granola goes flying everywhere, including all down the inside of my thigh high boots, which may I add, I never wear! Until today of course.

4 pm The shift is finally over, thank the Lord. I'm literally heading out the door and a regular walks in asking when I'm next working, I tell him "On the weekend", and he says, "Cool, see you then." As he does so, saliva comes flying out of his mouth and hits my directly on the forehead.


Seriously people... Control your saliva!

Tuesday, January 18, 2011


Hi People, for those of you who were enjoying my stories, Im sorry for the extended absence.. but I'm back now with much to share...

I'll begin with explaining why I should never date a customer.

This I learned first hand today as I had, what went down on record as one of the most awkward and painfully dull dates ever.

So there is a guy that comes into the diner, someone who I actually have never served but who I've always thought was cute (in a kind of vegan, rock star sort of way). Firstly let me preface this with the fact that A. I haven't had a boyfriend for a stupidly long time. B. The past two semi - relationships I have had both turned out to be gay. C. I clearly have awful judgement in men.

I notice last week that he is in the diner eating with a regular customer I know so I take the opportunity to say hi and introduce myself. Long story short, I tell my regular later that day that I think his friend is cute and he sets us up on a date.

Cut to...


We arrange to meet for coffee at a reasonable time of day, nothing too serious for a first date. First off I have made the mistake of being very hungover so Im already worried he is going to know I've been up all night and probably don't look so great, not to mention I probably have the personality of a Brussels sprout right now.
Secondly he is insanely late. He texts me with traffic updates as each five minutes pass by. So Im sitting there like a pleb waiting at a table in a cafe and not ordering anything, while the irritated waitress is coming up to me every frigging minute asking if I want anything.. IM WAITING FOR SOMEONE WHO IS OBVIOUSLY NOT HERE, AND YOU ARE NOT HELPING!!!! Anyway he finally arrives and this is how it goes...

He sits down and I am hit with an overpowering stench of Patchouli oil which he has clearly bathed in. One thing you need to know about me is that I fucking hate Patchouli, its disgusting and only worn by dirty hippies who don't wear deodorant.

After I stop myself from gagging I start to attempt conversation because this man seems like he doesn't have a lot to say, or rather that he is flustered about something.. Awkward?... just a bit. Not to forget my brain is struggling to even form a sentence right now but I see Im the one who's going to have to drive the conversation. So I begin with the usual "where do you live, what do you do etc:.. He then proceeds to speak in the quietist almost inaudible voice I have ever heard and I am struggling to understand him, and keep having to shout "sorry? what?" at him. He tells me he lives in Malibu then proceeds to whine and moan about the traffic for the next five minutes straight.

He does not try to ask me anything whatsoever about my life, who I am, where Im from... NADA. So I keep interviewing him about his life and realize he has a nervous blinking tick and its freaking me out. And some weird black stains on his teeth which are almost as disturbing as his Patchouli.

The waitress comes over and finally I order a tea, something quick I can drink so I can get the Mcfuck out of there as soon as humanly possible. He orders a slice of pie. When it arrives he starts to eat and as he talks/eats simultaneously with his mouth open I notice the pie schmooshed in the sides of his cheeks, in manner of crazed hamster, and see it sitting there as he's talking. Seriously trying not to vomit at this point.

So far I have learnt that he lives in Malibu but wants to move back coz he hates driving, he doesn't watch TV because he hates the media, he has absolutely nothing positive to say nor does he want to know anything about me. I discover he is a film producer and seeing that Im now painfully struggling to make conversation and am too much of a people pleaser to just leave I try to show interest in his work and ask him what film he's working on.. He says its a film about a family up a hill. I say "Cool, and what happens to this family"? Do I care? absolutely not but fuck I have to say something to distract myself. He tells me about this lovely little story about two families who have a mix up with the house they live in up the hill, yardy yarder and as Im half listening, half praying the earth will open up and swallow me whole, he tells me that all of a sudden the film ends with, "The two families end up hacking each other into pieces and its a giant blood bath. " Errrrr... WHAT? That film sounds almost as horrendous as this date is turning out. Pretty soon I start thinking he is likely to hack me up into little pieces too.

As soon as he finished eating I desperately try and make eyes at the waitress so she will bring us the check but now that I need her of course she is nowhere to be seen. Dammit. What happens next is the icing on the cake.... Two fire engines go past with the sirens going and he dramatically plugs his ears and winces. I thought he was joking but then realized he was actually serious. OMG, how old are you? 5? Relax buddy. What kind of a man are you?!


Finally the waitress brings the check and I tell him my meter is running out so I can escape. As I get to my car I see I have a ticket. Wonderful, now not only did I just waste an hour of my life on that nutcase Im now paying $55 for it.