Happy Tuesday. Another useless and uneventful day in the office. No one is here today but me. Scott, Peter, Kelsey, and Janet are all gone. Viola and I are the only ones here and neither of us want to be…. I’m totally leaving early.
So I left my sunroof open Sunday night and there was a tsunami. It’s been Spring Break since yesterday and has been cloudy, gloomy, rainy, and downright blustery since just about then. Happy Spring Break to all of us staying in Fayetteville. Bleh.
Some drama last night at CW. First, Jacqueline, the 17 year old-married-pregnant hostess whom I adore went into labor. Then, it was a painfully slow night and the kitchen boys got bored and started rooting around for cake/brownie/cookie recipes. This made all of us a little skeptical and we just waited to see what they were going to make. So they made this plate of brownies
and put it out on the counter for everyone to take one. Immediately, Autumn and I are thinking: 1. why would they make us brownies just to be nice? 2. but why would they make us pot brownies and waste their pot on us?? So no one eats the brownies. The boys act like this hurts their feelings. They mope around and complain about how they were just trying to be nice and no one trusts them to make brownies just for fun, yada yada. So Autumn finally tries one– and spits it out. Evidently, the boys thought it’d be funny to make brownies with an extra cup of salt and an extra cup of baking soda. Idiots. So a waste of otherwise perfectly good brownies. Executive Master Chef Dave would not like wasting food like that.
Ok, so it’s painfully slow, right. We’re going to close early, all of my tables have cashed out, I’m cleaning up and getting ready to go– this weird couple walks in and goes back and sits in billiards. Didn’t say hi, we want a pool table, we want drinks, nothing. So I go back there and after some pleasantries and what not, they tell me they’ve just come from the tattoo parlor and before I can stop them they simultaneously lift up their shirts and show me their matching nipple piercings. These are complete strangers and I have now seen their nipples. They then order two chocolate martinis, tip me and they’re on their way. On their way out, the man is mumbling something under his breath about an escort service. I love my job.