Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash: Pick Two (aghrivaine) wrote,
Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash: Pick Two

Hi, my name is sleeping Davy. I'll be your server tonight.

Many moons ago, after dropping out of college, but before joining the Army and before going back to school, I waited tables. It was a McJob, to be sure. (Though it was Bennigan's, not McDonald's, but whatever.) Have you seen Office Space and the "thirteen pieces of flair"? Yeah, it was that.

I can say with perfect sincerity that jumping out of an airplane was less stressful than waiting tables. And during that time, and for years and years afterwards, I would have anxiety-laden stress dreams about waiting tables. Anything that would make it awful, like I would dream that I had fallen asleep in the stock room and wake up thinking I had another goddamn Chicken Caesar to run ...and find myself halfway out of my bedroom before I realized I was at home. And this went on for a long time. I don't think I ever once had an  Army stress dream. I've been responsible for websites with millions of hits a day, and not tossed and turned once - but waiting in tables? Fresh Hell, every day.

But it hasn't happened for a long time - you know, eventually wounds, even psychic wounds, heal. Until last night. Why last night? I have no idea, but there I was, waiting tables again and completely forgetting orders, trying to punch in orders and not knowing the codes for the foods, running to the bar and realizing I'd forgotten to order drinks. Stressy as heck, man.

Why? No idea. Hope it stops. I mean, it's not a big deal, as embuggerances go, table-waiting stress dreams is pretty minor. But it's an odd throwback from the ol' subconscious, and I hope it's not a harbinger of other long-buried crap bubbling up.

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