Tonight I was the waitress who hated all of my tables. *SIGH* It happens so easily when one works too much...
One lame comment from a table like "This wine tastes...I don't know...flat" or "Do you serve green paella?" and I felt ready to blow. One can only be surrounded by so much idiocy in one day, I kept thinking to myself. Yet every time someone said something inane to me, I put on my happy face and kept smiling.
I continue to be amazed at how easily and effortlessly that happy face slips into place, no matter what my mood, no matter how bad the news I've just received. Like a record (ha! remember records?) finding it's groove.
Or am I? Is this actually a the most apt of titles for my perpetual state of being? Once a waitress, am I always a waitress?