Open Mouth, insert foot

Open Mouth. Insert Foot.

So now its true confessions time. After all of my many, many (probably too many for those of you reading my blog all along) posts about crappy tippers, difficult customers, and especially crappy Christian tippers...here's how I failed yesterday.

It was slow yesterday (merely to set the stage, mind you, not excuse me) and my first or second table was a couple of ladies. They wanted to split a breakfast, one had coffee (decaff) and one wanted hot tea. Hot tea makes most waitresses at our restaurant cringe. Unlike coffee, which only needs a cup and maybe a creamer, hot tea requires a tea cup and saucer, a small teapot and matching lid, filled with hot water, a box of tea packets, and perhaps creamer and honey as well. This particular customer only wanted Earl Grey -- which in our "Passion" and "Calm" teas selection, means decifering attractive labels of soothing nothing-much-to-help-you. I brought the tea. After quite some time, one person ordered a meal. They asked if it was too early for a hamburger (at 9:30). I was determined to dislike them. Especially after the lady wanted a refill on her teapot, and if I wouldn't mind, I could just put a fresh teabag in there for her, thanks. The other lady was a gusher. Everything was just wonderful from the china pattern to the poached egg. I'm not great with gushers in the morning. Then, came the crux of it all, an hour later. I cleared their plate away and one went into thoughts and prayers she'd been praying for the other. Oh I was set to hate them, now. Early morning, hot tea, one breakfast, sitting for hours, and now PRAYING. I could be they'd leave a crappy tip....

$6 on a meal less than $15.

Slightly shagrined, I asked forgiveness for my bad attitude as I washed the table.

But I hadn't learned anything later on. There was a couple in for lunch. No drinks. Maybe one coffee. They weren't ready yet. They weren't ready yet. Still not ready. Maybe just a touch more coffee, and lets discuss the menu, shall we? Ok. I couldn't possibly have them make just a (something we didn't have on the menu). No? Well, I guess.... They were polite, but they ate and ate and ate deliberately. Fork in one hand, knife in the other, European style, put down between bites, and chew like its your last meal on death row. His plate is empty, she's still chewing. Still going. Still cutting tiny slices and talking. I check on them. Ten minutes later I check again. I offer to take his plate. Oh, lets not do that until....rueful shrug. I walk away annoyed, determined to let them sit for a LONG time now. Finally they let me take their plates away. I bring the bill. He pays, and they both head to the bathroom. Cash. $6 tip, 20%. Oh. And they've left $5 more on the table. Crap. I go up to talk to him, ask him about themselves, and a conciliatory act (some of my faulty memory wants me to think that I went to talk to him as I took the money, not sucking up after he gave it to me. Can't remember now. Oh wait, I did. Because I saw the money on the table after I talked to him, and called after him "oh wait, you've given me far too much" as he headed to the bathroom). Where are they going?

Well, my wife is suffering from cronic kidney failure and the doctor says this is our last trip into the mountains.

...

I almost cried. Then I almost threw up. How can I take their money now, with all the horrid thoughts I thought about them all through dinner. I can't go up and hand it back -- that might assuage my guilt, but it'll make them feel terrible if I walk up and say, "I don't deserve this 'cause I was thinking aweful things about you for over an hour." So, after I failed to catch his attention, I waited for them to come out of the bathrooms, and I bought them dessert, on me, to take with them on their last hike in the mountains. Both, whatever they wanted.

And she hugged me when I brought it out, like I'd made a dying woman's last day so happy.

I still feel sick. I'm crying while I type. Still. A whole day later.

Wishlist

Wishlist

Just to do a bit of shameless self promotion...

The 1-7 Harry Potter Boxed set, the reason I haven't bought any of the Harry Potter books so far, except paperbacks, secondhand at Goodwill, will become available on September 11 in the UK, and October 16th for the US version.

My birthday is coming up.

In three months.

All I want is the Harry Potter boxed set, preferably the UK version so I don't have to grumble my way through the boot/trunk, jumper/sweater, bogie/booger conversions. Put your heads together, join forces, do it anonymously if you feel you simply cannot give more money to the thing eroding the very foundations of our society....

Harry Potter, boxed set, 1-7.

Actually, though, the US version does come in a lovely little carrying case that is kind of nice, and would look good next to my Lewis box sets, but the UK adult version, with its sci-fi cover, would look well next to my LOTR box sets.

Think about it.

Mishmash

Mismash

This has been a very 'wasted' day off. I've been sick all week, so instead of spending yet another precious free day driving to an audition (about hypocrital christians in an urban family -- maybe not something I'd want to play anyway...though this week at work tipped me over the edge the other direction), I stayed home today.

Last night was wonderful! I walked to Blockbuster and rented Sense and Sensibility (Alan Rickman...one of my favorite actors), Closer with Natalie Portman, Jude Law and Julia Roberts, and He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not with Audrey Tautou (from Amelie). I walked into the new pottery and glazing store to check out prices, and then to Shopko and bought myself a mermaid coloring book. The urge to color with good crayons has been quite strong. Especially since I've been buying box after box of fresh, new, never opened 96 Crayolas for our Operation Christmas Child boxes. So I got out my old box of 120, given to me by Adrian some birthday back in college, and my new Mermaid generic $1 bargain book and drew pictures for my kids in Tanzania and the Philippines. I watched two movies in the bargain.

Today I finished the book I've been working on between endless work shifts, White Oleander, and had a few naps. I still haven't finished my Lewis final paper, which I want to write, but want to do well, so I'm waiting for a good stretch of time. Today would have been good, but it feels SO GOOD to nap and loaf around. I haven't had a free day at home in weeks. I've ordered a carry out pizza and will watch the Audrey Tatou movie over dinner. Hard to read subtitles and color at the same time.

I spent some time this morning tracking down a director I worked with last fall who hasn't sent me my reel, and putting another item on eBay to see if I can sell enough to buy a plane ticket to Chicago in November.

I have one bone to pick, again, about waiting on Christians tables. I've said it before, but here's another friendly reminder from a person who is very glad that SHE has to wait on them, because they aren't going to harm their 'witness' to me, just annoy me very much and give me something to blog about:

This week has been church visits week. Pastors meetings, church groups, individuals. So far I've enjoyed the pastors and the couple from Georgia who have done a lot of missions trips the most. One group of women last week didn't like anything I brought them, everything wasn't how they'd pictured it (their fault, not mine, I'd brought everything they'd ordered out correctly). They didn't want croutons, and I can't remember what all now, but everything was very Screwtape Letters chapter 17 which I have dogeared since Solvang. Then, as I finished pouring fresh ground pepper on their salads, they all bowed their heads and told Jesus how greatful they were for the food. Huh. I wasn't fooled and I'm willing to be he wasn't either.

Thursday night I crawled off my pre-cold death bed and came to work hoping it would be busy since the prime rib buffet in the bar usually means a lot of overflow for the restaurant. Not the case that evening, and the three of us plus busser stood around. At 8:00 I was about to leave when one more table came in. A young couple on their 10 year anniversary. It was my turn, and they ordered appetisers and expensives meals, so I decided to hang on anyway for the tip at the end. They bowed their heads and prayed in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. The average meal lasts 40 minutes to an hour. An hour and a half later, they were still talking, kissing, holding hands. They wanted dessert. They were taking pictures of each other. I offered to take one with them both in it, and took two at their table, two in front of the fireplace. The other waitress took pictures of them down the hallway on a large couch. Then...they disappeared into the bathrooms. We waited. Their dessert was uneated. 10 minutes later they still hadn't come back, and neither of us wanted to go check on them. Finally they reappeared, ate dessert, paid their check, and left a $3 tip on a $60+ tab, and a comment card with all tens and a "keep up the good work!" Huh.

Creme Brule

Quote of the day, week, month, and possibly year

From a comment card at work: "Creme Brule was burnt."

Another Murphy's Law Day

Another Murphy's Law Day

This week I've been communicating a director in Vancouver, BC. Everyday I checked my email before I went to work to see if I had an audition. Thursday I still hadn't heard from him, and knew that if I didn't, I'd have a message on my phone when I reached mile marker 115 telling me that I had one that evening.

I should learn to listen to my sixth sense. On my way home, sure enough, was a message from Rummi re-confirming my 9:30 audition. (Reconfirming? That implies it was confirmed at one point.) So I called Becky to see if I could crash there, and called the director to reschedule for 10:25 the next night.

Friday was my day off. I did errands, shipped ebay items out, got my rock chip repaired, and was ready to leave town from getting gas on 16th and Lincoln. On my way out I remembered that I'd forgotten my headshot. Ran back home. Went from home to deposit my last tips for gas money on 1st. Had a litle more time, so stopped in at the Lighthouse to talk to Nancy for half an hour. Left the Lighthouse and drove to Ellensburg. Four miles outside of Ellensburg I remembered another crucial tidbit. While I was in Cambodia legislation was passed that you can't cross the border now without a passport. Mine was in a drawer at home.

I called Miles to make sure there was no way I could cross. Then turned the car around and drove back to Yakima, got my passport, and turned around again, now two hours later than I'd intended.

Finally on the way I talked to Kristina. I pulled into Seattle at 6:30 -- just in time for dinner with the Logsdons before finishing out my trip to the border by 10:00. At 7:30 I got on the road again, making good time. The director called again to ask if I could be there an hour early. Not exactly. I told him my eta was 10, and I couldn't get there any sooner.

9:30 pm I reached the border, with 25 miles to go. And there I hit a major snag. A line stretched out for miles from the border. With the clock inching towards 10, I finally had to concede defeat and call the director to tell him I would be there neither at 10, nor 10:30, but more like 11. He sighed and said his crew had a long two days, and he couldn't keep them any longer.

So I pulled off the road at the last mile marked in the US and got gas, got coffee, and called the director back to talk to some of the other directors who were auditioning the next day. None of the shows sounded worth spending an hour and a half crossing the border plus buying a hotel room for. I turned around and drove back to Seattle.

The plus side, in 6 weeks I can try this again for three shows that all sound really interesting. Every cloud has a silver lining.

Today, I ran my tail off at work. Made $120 in tips, but Jake is staring at me DYING to be walked, and I actually cannot do it tonight.

I'm also stalling. I have a sewing project I've promised to do, but now, much as I would love to be finished with the thing, I didn't hear back from the lady about the questions I'd had (which way the stripes are supposed to go, and should they all go the same direction, or should some go one way, and some the other), so I didn't get to it on my days off -- now I'm working 7 days straight, and have to get this dress done. You'd think I'd plan this better.

I also have a 5,000 word final paper to write...sometime.

I am supposed to hear back from last Saturday's audition "by today." The silence doesn't bode well...

And ironically -- considering today's Little Red Boat post, I cooked myself bacon wrapped pork chops tonight. Stop shuddering, Teri.

The Pagoda on top of the Killing Caves

In our first week in Battambang we were taken to the killing fields -- the site of thousands of murders by the Khmer Rouge. Many people were shoved from the top of the mountain to die on the rocks below. Sadistic guards would swing infants into the rock walls. Strong men were either hung or electrocuted.

On top of the mountain is a very old Wat (pagoda is the western word for it). How old? So old that it has throwbacks to its Hindu origens. See the blue statue with all the arms? That's not a Buddhist but a Hindu god in a Buddhist temple. As elsewhere in Asia, beliefs are very mixed together and adopted. Buddhists in cambodia are also strongly influenced by Chinese ancestor worship and tribal animism.





We all look at a gun leftover from the last ditch attempt by the Khmer Rouge to keep the conquering armies from crossing over from Thailand.

More Stories of a Modern Woman

More Stories of a Modern Woman

So tonight, I found myself calling in a claim to my insurance company to get a rock chip in my windshield repaired, while tiling the bathroom wall.

Cultural Beauty

Cultural Standards of Beauty

One of the things that amazed me so much about Cambodia is how much they want to look like anything but what they do. Many times people would tell me how beautiful my skin is. I would tell them that their skin is beautiful too (watch American beauty standards coming into play -- we all want to be tan with small noses) and they'd say, no. They have Cambodian skin. I also got stopped a lot by people telling me how beautiful my 'tall' nose is. (In America I've twice been offered to have my nose job paid for.)

We all want to look different than we are. It's probably 'natural' to want to be someone else. I've always wished I could have long straight dark brown hair and small, even features (suprisingly, I've never wanted to be tall, no matter how convenient it would be for reaching top shelves).

In Cambodia light skin is the ultimate desire. Women wear turtlenecks, long pants, elbow length gloves, hats, scarves covering head and face, and often a sweater over all that -- all in the attempt not to tan. It is impossible to buy lotion in this country that isn't whitening - as you can see from the picture.

In one sense it is true that we all want what we can't have. Since most people Cambodia have dark hair, dark skin, and dark eyes, they want white skin, big eyes and tall noses instead. But in one way America is different -- yes we all perhaps aren't satisfied with the way we are made, but there is more of a license to have different kinds of beauty. With all the fashion and design shows out there, one things that does come across (on What Not to Wear for example) is find out what looks best on you. Highlight your own good features and don't try to copy someone else. Even in a culture that does have some standards of beauty -- the look for beauty isn't as cookie cutter anymore. What we consider beautiful is tall, dark, short, tall, dark, light, red, green, black, blue, thin as a stick, or curvy. What is beautiful is to be comfortable in your own skin. Find something you like about yourself and play it up. I, for example, love my eyes and put makeup on them everyday, whether I wear more than chapstick anywhere else. I know Teri loves her hair.

Who else has a favorite feature?

I just wish that my Cambodian sisters can learn to start appreciating how they were made, and how unique their culture is, as they hurry to throw it out and become western as quickly as possible.

Culture is unique. It's alright to like other cultures, other foods, other looks or ways of living. But don't forget to appreciate who you are, and where you were put on this earth.

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