Things You Can’t Un-hear

Cheer is in a bathroom stall in a bar and overhears the following conversation between Girl A, who is at the sink, and Girl B, who is in a stall.

Girl A: “I can’t believe it!”

Girl B: “I know! He was like, a parents’ dream!”

Girl A: “It’s cause he’s a fucking Jew!”

Girl B: “Yeah…”

Girl A: “It’s cause he’s a fucking power-hungry, money-hoarding Jew. It’s cause he’s fucking Jewish.”

Girl A then pokes fun at herself by singing “Everyone’s A Little Bit Racist.”

-Pause-

Girl A: “I’m also homophobic.”

Girl B: “But you can’t be homophobic if you know my cousin Shannon. She’s like, the epitome of a dyke.”

Girl A: “What? I can’t hear you over the water.”

-Pause-

Girl B: “I can’t believe I have to work on Tuesday.”

Later that same evening, Cheer finds herself back in the bathroom with the same girls, plus one of their friends, Girl C.

Girl C: “I’m going to go make sure she doesn’t fuck some random guy.”

Girl C exits the bathroom.

Girl A: “I’m going to have to have a semi-serious talk with her tomorrow. She’s just cock teasing all these guys.”

Girl B: “The cock teasing is getting out of hand.”

Girl A: “And she’s not even single yet!”

Girl B: “I’m single! I should be the one teasing all the cocks!”

Change

Cheer sits at the end of a car on a Bronx-bound 2 local train, reading a book at 1:30am.

The back car door opens while the train is in motion and a cracked-out homeless woman enters right next to Cheer. The woman begins her tale of hunger, domestic violence, how the government has wronged her, her starving crack babies–whatever words she thinks will pull heartstrings and result in pennies from passengers. While the woman limps and whines her way to the other end of the car, the man across from Cheer pulls one dollar from his wallet. He watches the woman to signal her, but she never looks back. She moves to the next car on the train.

A few stops after the homeless woman has left the car, a homeless man enters. He has opted for the dirty paper cup technique. This involves shaking a mangled, grimy paper cup containing a few coins while mumbling. The homeless man approaches the man across from Cheer, who is still holding the dollar he had out for the woman.

Homeless man: “Mumble grumble. Change. Mumble. Help. Grumble.”

Man with dollar: “Oh, well, this was for another lady.” He looks to the other end of the train. “I was waiting for her to come back.”

Homeless man: “Bragrumble mumble.”

Man with dollar: “Uhhh, do you have 50 cents?”

The homeless man dumps all the change from his cup into his hand and begins sorting it. He finds 50 cents and gives it to the man, who then gives him the dollar.

Cheer: “Whatthefuck.”

NYC Parking Adventures with Cheer

Thursday, September 17, 2009:

8am
Cheer has slept only 2 hours. She slides off the edge of her bed to prepare for the 1.5 hour sit-in-her-car-doubled-parked-with-her-fellow-car-owning-neighbors-until-street-cleaning-ticketing-time-is-over process. She endures this whenever she forgets to move her car to the opposite side of the street the day before. In a very unbalanced manner, she gets into pants, shoes and a hoodie. She’s ready for the torture to begin.

8:10am
Cheer leaves her apartment and walks in a zombie-like manner one avenue east and one street north to where she left her car.

8:12am
Her walking slows and Cheer’s eyes open a little wider.
“Oh. Fuck.”
Her pace quickens as she scans the cars until she finds herself at the end of the block. “Oh….Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Cheer walks briskly up and down long avenues panicking, looking for her car, and hoping to find it before 8:30 – ticketing time for cars left on the to-be-cleaned side of the street.

Cheer’s inner monologue:
Where the fuck is my car? Where the fuck? My car. The fuck? I was sure I left my car there. Why? Oh. Shit. Why is it not there? Am I losing it? Did I really park it somewhere else and I don’t remember? My car is gone. My car was towed. No. There is no reason for it to have been towed. Perfectly legally parked. What the fuck. Oh fuck. Where the fuck is my car? Stolen. My car has been stolen. Oh fuck. Oh fuck? Maybe this is good. I was trying to sell it. Now it has been stolen so I’ll just get the money from my insurance. Fuck. What the fucking fuck. Pain in the ass. I’ve heard that takes months to process. And they’ll take my deductible. But, it could be good. This is bad. This is sooo bad. Where the fuck is my car? Stolen. Towed. Stolen.

8:50am
Cheer returns to her apartment and begins web-netting how to find a towed car. She finds the website and enters her license plate number. Nothing. Her car is not in the system. According to the city of New York, it hasn’t been towed. There are no current tickets associated with it.
“Fuck.”

9am
Cheer calls her local police precinct.
Cheer: “Hi, I think my car may have been stolen.”
Officer: “It was probably towed.”
Cheer: “It wasn’t found in the tow database online.”
Officer: “Well, if it was towed this morning, it might not be in that system yet. You have to call all these numbers of all the different places in the city that tow and ask them.”
Cheer: “And if I don’t locate it, then I can call you back and file a report for a stolen vehicle?”
Officer: “No. You can go down to where you left your car parked and then call 911 for an officer.”
Cheer: “So this system is complete bullshit and I can’t do the report over the phone?”
Officer: “Correct.”

9:05am
Cheer proceeds to call all 6 phone numbers to find her possibly towed car. Calls result in the following:

Call 1: We don’t tow cars from Harlem. We don’t have your car.
Call 2: Nope. Not in the system. We don’t have your car.
Call 3: We don’t tow from Harlem. No dice.
Call 4: This is the mayor’s office. You want the sheriff’s office.
Call 5: No answer and no machine at sheriff’s office.
Call 6: We don’t got it.
Call 7: You have reached a Verizon automated voice messaging system.

9:20am
Cheer calls local precinct back.
Cheer: “I wanted to double check the numbers you gave me because I was unable to get through to two of them.”
Cheer checks numbers with officer. They are “correct.”
Officer: “OK. You need to go to where you left your car and call 911.”
Cheer: “Can’t you just send an officer? Why do I have to call 911?”
Officer: “Yeah, I guess that would be reasonable. I’ll send someone. Go there now.”

9:22am
Cheer is on street corner, in the rain, on the coldest day since she’s arrived in NY. Wearing only a hoodie, she’s freezing. She waits.

9:25am
Cheer calls precinct.
Cheer: “It’s the stolen car girl again.”
Officer: “Oh, hi.”
Cheer: “ Just wanted to let you know I’m here and I’m wondering how long I’ll have to wait for an officer.”
Officer: “Oh, yeah, I tried to get in touch with someone to come meet you, but didn’t get anyone to respond. Sorry. You should just call 911.”
Cheer: “So glad you planned on telling me.”
Officer: “Meh. Whatevs.”

9:26am
Cheer calls 911 and is told an officer will be there shortly. She waits.

9:27-10:30am
Cheer waits. Rain. Cold. She waits. She watches 4 police cars drive through the intersection, but none are there for her. She even asks one officer while he’s stopped at the red light if he’s the one she’s been waiting for.
“I’m not the one. Just wait. Someone will come for you.”

10:30am
The officers sent for Cheer finally arrive. She explains her car search thus far.
Officer: “It wasn’t stolen.”
Cheer: “No?”
Officer: “It was probably towed. Is there glass on the ground?”
Cheer: “I didn’t look for glass.”
Officers get out of car and walk with Cheer to the area where her car was parked. No glass.
Officer: “It was most likely towed. I’ve been in this precinct for 5 years and he’s been here for 15 years and we’ve never had a car actually stolen. They just don’t do that around here. It was towed.”
Cheer: “That’s both comforting and disconcerting all at the same time.”
Officer: “Yeah. You’re not the first to naively believe her car was stolen.”
Cheer: “OK. So, if it was towed, why? It wasn’t parked illegally.”
Officer: “Yeeaah, that’s what you think.”
Cheer: “Huh?”
Officer: “It was, you’re an idiot, and your car was towed.”
Officer points to flyer-like sign taped to a gate: “Did ya see this sign?”

Cheer looks at flyer: “Uhh. No. No I did not.”
Officer: “Told ya! We were right, you were wrong. Neener neener. That’s where your car is. Good day.”
Cheer: “Uhhh, thanks?”

Cheer takes photo of sign for information and returns home.

11am
Cheer calls the number from the sign.
Recording: “You’ve reached blah blah blah. If your car has been towed and it’s the middle of the night, call 311.”
Cheer: “The fuck?”
Cheer hangs up and tries to find a website. That would be convenient and modern, so there is no website.
Cheer calls back and leaves a message, seeing as it is not the middle of the night.
Cheer calls 311.
311 Lady: “Hi, I’m the nicest and most helpful person you will talk to all day.”
Cheer: “Cool. I’m pretty sure my car was towed, but it’s not registered in the system online. I called a plethora of numbers given to me by my precinct, and none of them have any information on my car. I found a tow away sign where I was parked, so I believe it was towed the night before last. If that is the case, it should be in the system by now. And now I can’t get an answer from the number on the sign.”
311 Lady: “What kind of sign?”
Cheer: “A flyer-like sign that says there is going to be pavement milling in the middle of the night. There’s info for the project including an address and phone number, but I can’t get them on the phone.”
311 Lady: “Oh, it was for construction?”
Cheer: “Yeah.”
311 Lady: “Well then they didn’t tow it to a lot. They just moved it.”
Cheer: “Eh?”
311 Lady: “If the tow reason was construction, they don’t impound the car, they just move it to somewhere within a 10 block radius.”
Cheer: “Say whaaaaa? That’s some crazy shit.”
311 Lady: “I know.”
Cheer: “So, they came and towed my car, but just parked it somewhere else within 10 blocks?”
311 Lady: “Yup.”
Cheer: “In this neighborhood I’m surprised they’d find anywhere to move it!”
311 Lady: “Haha. I don’t know how they find a space either, but they do.”
Cheer: “So how do I find out where they re-parked it?”
311 Lady: “Your local precinct will have that information for you.”
Cheer: “OK. Thanks.”

11:15am
Cheer calls the local precinct once again.
Cheer: “Apparently my car was towed for pavement milling and the 311 lady told me that they just moved it to somewhere within a 10 block radius. Is she on crack?”
Officer: “No, she’s not. That’s what would happen.”
Cheer: “Why didn’t anyone mention this as a possibility before?!”
Officer: “Cause this is New York fucking City and we have better things to do than actually help you find your car.”
Cheer: “Fuck. OK, well, can you please tell me where my car was relocated?”
Officer: “If you come into the precinct with your license and registration we can get the information for you.”
Cheer: “You can’t give it to me over the phone?”
Officer: “No, that would be practical and wouldn’t waste everyone’s time.”
Cheer: “I see. Well, my registration is in my car, so I can’t bring it. Will you still be able to tell me where it is?”
Officer: “Do you know your plate number?”
Cheer: “Yes.”
Officer: “Then we can give you the info when you come in.”
Cheer: “Great.”

11:25am
Cheer walks 5 blocks to precinct. While she waits in line, she listens to the guy in front of her telling an officer why he’s there.

Guy: “My friend is trying to kill me.”
Officer: “Your friend? Why?”
Guy: “Well, my ex-friend, I mean, he was my friend. But now he’s crazy and trying to kill me.”
Officer: “OK, what happened?”
Guy: “He threw a rock at my head.”
Officer: “And you believe this was a murder attempt?”
Guy: “Well, I have epilepsy. He knows this and knows that if he were to hit me in the head just right it could induce a grand mal seizure and I would die.”
Officer: “OK. So, did you call 911?”
Guy: “No.”
Officer: “Why not?”
Guy: “Cause I didn’t want to rile him up…make things worse.”
Officer: “How’d that work out for ya?
Guy: “It still got worse.”
Officer: “Mmmm hmmm.”

Cheer is called up by another officer. She explains her car search.
Officer looks through a pile of pink papers looking for a report of her vehicle.
Officer: “There’s no record of it here. These are all the reports from today and it’s not here.”
Cheer: “I believe the car was towed on Tuesday. Would you please look at those papers?”
Officer: “Tuesday? It’s Thursday. You’re just now coming in? What the hell is wrong with you?”
Cheer: “I parked the car Tuesday afternoon and there was no street cleaning provoking me to move my car before this morning. Which is when I realized it wasn’t where I had parked it.”
Officer: “Riiiiight. One minute.”
Officer finds new stack of papers and locates Cheer’s car info and gives her an address 2 blocks away.
Cheer: “So, it’s possible that the car now has a ticket because of its new location and this morning’s street cleaning, huh?”
Officer: “Yeah. I suppose so.”
Cheer: “So…I’m just screwed?”
Officer: “Well, yes and no. First go see if the car is actually at this location. If it is, and there is a ticket, come back and we’ll give you a copy of this paper. Then maybe the court will dismiss your ticket.”
Cheer: “Right. Thanks.”

12pm
Cheer walks 2 blocks. She finds her car ticketless and beautiful. She re-parks closer to her apartment, and searches the street for hidden evil towing notices taped to gates like garage sale signs. None. She goes home and gets back in bed.
“I have got to sell that fucking car.”

Management II

Pre-shift staff meeting:

Manager: “So, we know it’s been a little hot in the restaurant lately.”

Staff: “It’s not a little hot, it’s I-don’t-want-to-be-outside-unless-I’m-naked-and-swimming-while-eating-a-popcicle hot.”

Manager: “I’ll allow you to feel that way, but it doesn’t mean I verify that statement’s absolute truth and I will actually disagree with you on principle.”

Staff: “Riiiiight.”

Manager: “Anyway, it’s been a little hot in the restaurant and we know it can be a wee bit, tiny bit uncomfortable.”

Staff: “We have heat rash between our ass cheeks.”

Manager: “We know that you’re sweating profusely and panting due to your rapid dehydration, but, we really want to hide that from the guests. So, please don’t fan yourself, or wipe your brow. We’d really love it if you could just pretend you’re a superhuman that doesn’t produce fluids.”

Staff: “So when we don’t wipe our brows and we drip sweat on to the tables, food, and customers, you want us to pretend it’s not happening?”

Manager: “Ideally.”

Staff: “Just to be clear, you don’t consider us humans, but annoying, sweating machinery.”

Manager: “Yes.”

Staff: “What about our customers? They want to physically beat us in the face until we get you to close the goddamn doors and turn the AC the fuck on.”

Manager: “Well, we’re very willing to give the guests free prosecco or sorbet.”

Staff: “What about us? We’re wearing twice as much clothing and running around. Can we have a glass of prosecco or some sorbet?”

Manager: “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Staff: “Why don’t we just put all that free beverage and cold sugar money toward fixing the AC?”

Manager: “We’re working on it.”

Staff: “You’ve been working on it for 3 months.”

Manager: “Yeah, when we say we’re working on it, it really means we’re waiting for winter.”

Staff: “Is schadenfreude a requirement for being hired as a manager here?”

Manager: “Yes.”

Management

Manager: “So, I’ve noticed you’ve done a few strange things lately in terms of your priorities during service.”

Cheer: “Uhhhh, like what?”

Manager: “Well, for example, last night you asked me for a stapler during the middle of service. Then you had the gall to ask the host to find you a stapler when I didn’t bother looking or telling you I didn’t have time.”

Cheer: “I’m not sure what you’re getting at here. You’re a manager. You’re here to assist in service and sort out shitty problems.”

Manager: “No, Cheer. You’re completely mistaken. My true job here is to make more money than you, talk to you like you’re mentally challenged, do as little as possible, and degrade you at every opportunity.”

Cheer: “Oh. I’m sorry. I was terribly misguided.”

Manager: “So, when I’m on the floor doing nothing and you ask me for something, it’s really cutting into my doing nothing. Sometimes it’s interfering with my drinking of wine and eating of food which you cannot have.”

Cheer: “Wouldn’t want to interrupt your gourmet meal and fancy wine party.”

Manager: “So, I’d really like it if you would find your own staplers and quit bothering me.”

Cheer: “OK. I hate you.”

Manager: “Good. Then this has been a successful waste of your time.”

Osso Buco

Monday:

Customer: “How’s the osso buco?”

Cheer: “It’s really quite nice. Have you had pork osso buco before?”

Customer: “Yes. Is it veal?”

Tuesday:

Customer: “I’m thinking of ordering the pork osso buco.”

Cheer: “Okay.”

Customer: “Is it turkey?”

Cheer: “Your stupidity makes me want to cry. Yes. It’s a pork-turkey osso buco.”

Customer: “Excellent. I’ll have that.”

Wednesday:

Customer: “Tell me about the osso buco.”

Cheer: “Well, our osso buco is pork and it’s wonderful. It’s served with the classic preparation and is one of our most popular entrées.”

Customer: “So, it’s not veal?”

Cheer: “No. It’s pork.”

Customer: “But osso buco is supposed to be made with veal.”

Cheer: “Osso buco is usually made with veal, yes.”

Customer: “So, why do you call it osso buco if it’s not veal?”

Cheer: “Just to piss you off.”

Customer: “That’s what I thought.”

Thursday:

Cheer: “What would you like for your entrée?”

Customer: “The osso buco.”

Cheer: “Great.”

-20 minutes later-

Cheer: “Careful, this plate is hot.”

Customer: “What’s this?”

Cheer: “Osso buco.”

Customer: “Oh.”

Cheer: “Is something wrong?”

Customer: “It doesn’t look like osso buco.”

Cheer: “Oh. That’s because you can’t read.”

Customer: “What?!”

Cheer: “The menu clearly states PORK OSSO BUCO, but you were expecting veal.”

Customer: “Yes, yes I was.”

Cheer: “Sucks to be you.”

Customer: “Yes, yes it does.”

Cheer: “Maybe you should learn to read. Literacy is pretty helpful in life.”

Customer: “I’ll just bow my head in shame and eat something I didn’t want cause I’m a lame-ass who can’t read.”

Cheer: “Enjoy!”

Friday:

Customer: “Can we split the osso buco?”

Cheer: “Sure. I’ll bring you an extra plate, because I’m just such a nice person.”

Customer: “Well, do you think they could split if for us in the kitchen?”

Cheer: “No.”

Customer: “Why not?”

Cheer: “Because there’s only one shank.”

Customer: “So…why can’t they split it?”

Cheer: “Did you ride the short bus to school?”

Customer: “I don’t know.”

Cheer: “Good to know who I’m dealing with.”

Customer: “So…the kitchen doesn’t like splitting entrées?”

Cheer: “No, the kitchen doesn’t have a bone saw.”

Customer: “I don’t get it.”

Cheer: “Obviously.”

How Dare He?!

Party size: 4

Table: not mine

Customers: 2 elderly married couples who might already be dead

Cheer: “I’m just minding my server business…do do do…takin’ care of my tables.”

Random lady not at one of Cheer’s tables: “Excuse me, miss.”

Cheer: “We pool tips in this restaurant, so it is to my benefit to stop and try to please you. What do you need?”

Lady: “I just wanted to pull you aside and waste some of your time.”

Cheer: “I’m used to that. Shoot.”

Lady: “Well, I thought I ought to mention to you how completely appalled I am by that gentleman over there.” (She points across the dining room.)

Cheer: “Oh. What is his crime?”

Lady: “Well, he’s failed to remove his baseball cap in this fine dining establishment.”

Cheer: “Seriously? That’s why you pulled me aside?”

Lady: “It’s really bothering me because I was born in 1860 and my mind is incapable of catching up with the times.”

Cheer: “I see.”

Lady: “Even though I’m seated with my back to him, I know he’s wearing it. I just can’t enjoy myself.”

Cheer: “You know you’re a broken human, right?”

Lady: “No, because I’m a total narcissist who thinks everyone else is here to serve my needs and agree with me.”

Cheer: “Well, we can do that for you, but, it’ll all be a lie in order to get you to tip us more.”

Lady: “I don’t know what tipping is. I have a husband who controls all the money keeps me in a cage of the past in our Carmel cottage.”

Cheer: “That sounds about right.”

Lady: “Anyhow, I’d like you to tell the owner that he really ought to enforce proper dining rules. He needs to set this lowly being straight and ask him to remove his hat – like any civilized person would.”

Cheer: “I’ll be sure to relay that message. PS I’m totally lying to you right now.”

Lady: “But, golly, you’re good at lying and I feel so much better.”

Cheer: “Good. Now slide gently back into the coma you call living and I’ll be on my way.”

Lady: “Yes, I certainly will. Thank you.”

De Nada

Party size: 6

Customers: Boring old people with a lot of money who may or may not actually like each other. 3 dudes 3 wives.

Same old bullshit with this table until I was taking their dessert orders. As I circled the table jotting down what type of refined sugar and fat each guest would like, and in what format they would most appreciate their coffees, I came to a woman.

Cheer: “What would you like for dessert?”

Woman: “De nada.”

Cheer furrows her brow in confusion. Woman notices Cheer’s perplexed look and scoffs.

Woman: “De nada. It means nothing. I don’t want anything.”

Because I have taken more than one Spanish class, I know that ‘de nada’ literally means ‘of nothing’ and is how to say ‘you’re welcome,’ and ‘nada’ alone means ‘nothing.’ So, I asked the woman what she’d like for dessert and she responded ‘you’re welcome.’ I contemplated correcting her language error. After a moment of pause, I decided I didn’t like the scoffy-McScofferson woman and decided to leave her to drown in her own ignorance. Nothing is quite as sweet as letting someone who treats you as an ignorant servant brazenly display her own ignorance for all the world to see.

Bobblehead

Party size: 2

Customer 1: Lady in her late 70s. It’s her birthday. She may or may not be aware of this fact.

Customer 2: Daughter of customer 1. In her 40s. She’s entirely too smiley. She also holds a look of vacancy as if her mind is in permanent hiding from the painful outside world.

These women were given the option of three tables which were placed entirely too close to one another. Like choosing the wrong urinal, anyone who chooses the middle table missed urinal etiquette day in school and/or is an alien who likes to sit really close to strangers. They chose the middle table.

After the proper type of H20, the fruitiest cocktail and sweetest white wine were delivered to their table, I journey to tell them the night’s specials. In my place of employment, there are no less than 6 specials on any given night and the telling of them can be a lengthy process.

Cheer: “Are you interested in hearing the specials?”

Aliens who like to sit really close to strangers: “Why yes, that would be lovely…like a ride on a fluffy cloud with Care Bears.”

Awkward pause.

Cheer: “Interesting analogy. Moving on… The soup tonight is spicy and you look fairly wimpy so you’re not going to order it…”

From the moment I begin reciting specials, Smiley-Pants begins nodding her head. People do this. It’s some kind of lizard brain reaction to one human telling another human information. Listener human nods showing he understands. Sometimes this mechanism spins out of control. Example: customer 2 aka bobblehead.

Cheer: “Wow. I’ve seen some serious head nodding in my short career as a waitress, but, I must say, you take the cake.”

Bobblehead: “Why thank you. I like cake.”

Cheer: “That’s good. Enjoyment of cake earns you normal-person points. Unfortunately, your timing on sharing that information negates said points. But I have lots of other specials to get through to take your mind off of your recent failure in social communication.”

Bobblehead: “Does that mean we’re getting back onto the cloud ride?”

Cheer: “Right back on that cloud. Let’s go. Our other appetizer is one that you will be enamored with and will also think is an entrée. Upon asking me to repeat it, you’ll realize it’s an appetizer and that you really can’t eat that much food if you plan on maintaining your aura of frailty. PS You’re still vehemently nodding your head.”

Lady: “Yes, I’m creepy and good at nodding.”

Cheer: “You’re serious about agreeing with me, huh? I could probably tell you that all of our food had been contaminated with bird flu and you’d have the same reaction with the head bobble.”

Bobblehead: “Why, yes. You speak only the truth.”

Cheer: “Ok. I’m two specials deep into a list of 6. I’m now smiling at you for no reason because it’s all I can do not to actually laugh at you. I’m really having a hard time here. It would be rather helpful if you’d just pause the whole head nodding business so I don’t have to forfeit the tip from your table due to my inappropriate laughing in your face.”

Nodder: “I really have no control over my head. It knows you’re telling me specials and it’s programmed to agree with you. I don’t understand the world so I really don’t know how to control my motor functions. Sorry, dear, but until you complete your specials spiel, I’ll be unable to return to normal.”

Cheer: “I feel like you just over shared, but I think I asked for it.”

Lady: “What’s over sharing?”

Cheer: “Let’s make a deal. You do your weird person thing and I’ll just look at your mom while I tell specials and we’ll all avoid an awkward outburst of server laughter.”

Lady: “Yay! Laughter!”

Cheer: “Our special fish tonight is Salmon… and peripheral vision is not my friend right now. I can still see your damn head. I’m just going to power through. I’ll just swallow my giggles and continue to grin like a moron…We also have pasta which you might like. It’s fresh and it’s got pasta in it. I’m going to level with ya. I’m bailing early. We only have 4 specials for you. Everyone else who doesn’t threaten my sanity gets 6 options, but I’m pretty much going to grab your head and football victory slam it into the floor to make you stop, or I’m going to run screaming now so I may release my reactionary laughter into the kitchen. After I’ve recovered, I’ll return for your order.”

Ladies: “Oh. Tee hee. We don’t know much about football.”

Cheer: “Of course not.”

Celebrity

Party size: 2

Customers: Regular fat married couple. Tourists. Nothing suspect upon meeting them.

Husband: “I’m sitting outside.”

Cheer: “Yes. I know. I’m outside talking to you at your table, which is also outside. Amazing isn’t it?”

Husband: “Yes. Yes, but…I’m right next to the front door.”

Cheer: “I’d agree with that statement.”

Husband: “And, and I’m facing the walkway up to the front door, which I am sitting right next to and looking at, like, right now.”

Cheer: “Uh-huh.”

Husband: “So, I see everyone that comes into the restaurant. I see them as they’re walking up to the door, as they ascend the steps to the door, and as they enter the restaurant.”

Cheer: “It’s almost like a having a super-power sitting out here.”

Husband: “Golly, I think so.”

Cheer: “Well, if you’re done telling me useless information about your dining vantage point, I’m going to go back inside and drink more alcohol on the job.”

Husband: “Wait! Ummm…uhhh…”

Cheer: “I’m afraid you’re going to touch me so I’m keeping a safe distance. Still listening, though.”

Husband: “OK. OK. So, you know how I was telling you that I was sitting here and I can see everyone that goes inside?”

Cheer: “Yes. I believe we thoroughly covered that topic.”

Husband: “Well, I, I, I can hardly believe it, but, but, I saw a ridiculously famous athlete go in there.”

Cheer: “You’re not mistaken. A ridiculously famous athlete did indeed walk in that door and is dining just inside.”

Husband: “Ohmygod. Do you think it would be OK if I came inside to meet him and get his autograph?”

Cheer: “Why didn’t you ask him when you saw him going inside?”

Husband: “I was in shock. Only after half an hour did I gain the courage to ask your permission to do it.”

Cheer: “As much as that would have been fine half an hour ago when he arrived, and will be OK in an hour or so when he’s leaving, I think it would be highly inappropriate to interrupt his meal for an autograph. He’s already started on his first course.”

Husband: “Oh. OK.”

Cheer: “I’m going to leave your bill here for you and go back inside now.”

Husband: “OK.”

—————————–

Later, Cheer emerges from the kitchen to find husband-man in the foyer of the restaurant.

Cheer: “Can I help you with something?”

Husband: “I just came inside to be closer to the athlete….uhh…I mean to pay the bill. Your coworker took it for me.”

Cheer: “OK. Well, thanks again and have a good night. I’m just going to the furthest corner of the restaurant now, where I can’t see you, in order to assist my other table. I should be back in a few minutes if you need anything.”

Husband: “OK, thanks.”

—————————–

Cheer: “Chatty-chat-chat-chatting to you, other table of mine, about bullshit like the weather in your home city compared to the weather here.”

Other table: “Thanks so much for entertaining us for a good 3 minutes with your humor, knowledge and sparkling personality. We’re not going to increase your tip for it. Also, we’re over it and this is an appropriate time for you to leave the table and let us talk to each other again.”

Cheer: “Yay! I’m outta here!”

——————————-

Cheer: “Hum dee dum. I’m just walking back to the bar through the main area of the restaurant….and….what the fuck?”

Cheer to coworker upon reaching bar aka server hangout spot: “Uhhhh…so, what’s up with creepy-outside-guy standing in the center of the dining room and openly staring at the ridiculously famous athlete?”

Coworker: “I don’t think he’s aware of what he’s doing.”

Cheer: “He’s not even being coy. He’s standing in the middle of the dining room, 10 feet from our famous person and staring. He’s been there since I went to chat up my other table, hasn’t he?”

Coworker: “Yup.”

Cheer: “I’m so intrigued by his lack of social awareness that I can’t bring myself to make him stop.”

Coworker: “Is he going to ask for his autograph?”

Cheer: “Seeing as he’s been there for a good couple of minutes and has yet to make a move, I’m going with no.”

Coworker: “Should we do something? This is totally worse than interrupting for an autograph.”

Cheer: “Yeah…about that…I’m scared of that guy. I think if you were interrupt his stare, he might pop back into reality, but on the way out of his trance, he’d lick your face.”

Coworker: “Oh. Oh god. That’s absolutely what would happen. I like my face. Sorry famous athlete.”

Cheer: “I’m keeping my face as far from that guy as possible.”

Coworker: “I think he’s leaving.”

Cheer: “The wife must have buzzed the homing beacon to get him to go, cause that stalker would wait for the end of days to get an autograph.”

Coworker: “I’m gonna go ahead and agree with you on that.”

Cheer: “Wanna hide in the kitchen until he leaves as to avoid additional and unnecessary interaction with him?”

Coworker: “Yes, please!”