Anticlimactic Moment #2

Once more I was released from my duties early, this time for imminent duty.  It was around 8:30 PM on Tuesday night when I felt the cement mixer of my intestines churning, and I knew that all the meat I’d consumed over the weekend had come full circle, and was now knocking on the door marked with the glowing red flourescent Exit sign.  I told my general manager, who was helping me seat people and keep an eye on the door.  Use the extra bathroom in the restaurant, she told me.  I shook my head.  Then go upstairs, to the office, says she.  I’d prefer not to, I replied.  Why don’t you just go home and come back?  she exclaimed, exasperated.  In 30 to 45 minutes?  I sweetly, innocently asked.  Go home.  Just go home.  Lucy, I told the toilet, I’m hooooooome!!  Ah, Maureen Dowd’s book Bushworld and porcelain… maybe its more of a climactic moment than the subject of this post would lead one to believe.

Gross, right?  Everyone knows how much I talk about this kind of thing.  I usually tell my roommates and everyone else in the apartment before I go in, and come out with long term memories and stories that I constantly relate to everyone in my inner circle (get your mind out of the gutter).  I actually ask everyone in the house whether or not me going in is alright, because I don’t want to feel comfortable and safe while I’m in there.  Only my sister interrupts me, and nothing, nothing, pisses me off more.  But that is her right, as my sister.  If any of the rest of you try talking to me, or (shuddering), wiggle the doorknob, and… I’ll kill you.  Breaching this subject with my general manager is like the “Getting To Know You” time in our relationship.

When I was in high school I went on several road trips with my best friend and his dad, Ray & Ray… while down in Key West on once such wild ride, we were staying in small bed and breakfast where the bedroom and the bathroom were not separated by a door, but rather a curtain.  Older Ray, or Bull as he is known, went out to the living room of the house and gathered ten or fifteen people who were mulling around, and brought them into the bedroom, quietly.  Then on his direction they all came through the curtain into the bathroom while I was “concentrating” and sang “Happy Birthday” to me.  I was so traumatized I couldn’t go again for weeks, became horribly backed up, and had to start talking to a therapist.  The therapist name was the New York Times, and we have a very therapeutic & healthy relationship now.

Alright, you say, I’ve heard enough of this crapping crap, and I want to know more about restaurant week.  Well, I’ll tell you.  Yesterday at table 49 in Turner Fisheries I had a celebrity.  He is a big star in soap operas.  Jerry Douglas.  They tell me he is the patriarch of the Young and the Restless.  I am street attorney to the young and the restless.  Mr. Douglas has also appeared on TV in shows as disperate as THE GREATEST AMERICAN HERO, THE BIONIC WOMAN, and BONANZA.   Mr. Douglas came into the restaurant having already eaten, so I got him a cup of tea (he wanted decaf British Tea Time) with honey & Sweet Thing (a sweet & low variation.)  The woman he was entertaining had a cobb salad (bib lettuce, egg crumblings, crab, shrimp & smoked salmon) with champaign vinnegraite on the side.  They were very surprised how quickly I brought the food to the table (about 4 minutes after they ordered I arrived with the tea & the salad.)  I was quite amused at how fast the woman inhaled her salad.  Mr. Douglas was struck a flashy image of man, with silver hair and a twinkle in his eye, and I was minxy to be in the presence of such soap celebrity.

Feast your eyes!

K-Billy’s Super Sounds of Stars on 45 Just Keeps on Trucking… All Restaurant Week Long… tune in to the 3rdarm Shoutcast Today for new songs and longer mixes!!!