Waiting... Still!

Good news! I have an update on my life to share with you. We will start with what is going on in the world of serving people chicken. Yes. Fascinating, I know.
So, I got my hooded sweatshirt back. Yes. I did. I was as surprised as you are. The girl came into work saying "My boyfriend told me that I have a lot of hooded sweatshirts like that, but none that were like that." So, she brought it back, and I'm wearing it right now!
Amazing.
I will have to joke with her a few more times to make it seem like I don't really care. To make it seem as if I wasn't as pissed as I was and to smooth things over. I'm still working with her, so I have to play it safe.
I am getting used to serving at this restaurant. I have to tell you, it's scary. I shouldn't be getting used to it as much as I am. I know where things are located in the computer system. I know what to do when I "open" the store and what is asked of me when I leave the store. I can roll silverware like nobody's business now! I am the freakin' man when it comes to rolling silverware.
I am also starting to like the people that I'm working with. Well, most of them. But, I was hoping to not develop relationships with these people for fear that it would be more difficult for me to leave when something better came along. However, they are bordering on the "friend" level and I have to be careful. They could soon end up in my cell phone as people that I call when Da Bears are beating another pathetic team in the NFL like the Packers, Lions or Broncos.
Heck, I might even invite them to a party or two. Also, the girls who work up front as hostestess can't get enough of me. One told me that she would like to see me with my shirt off. I don't know what to think about this. They are all about 16-18. WAY too young for me. While it is flattering, and evidence that I am as good looking as I expected, it is borderline creepy. Hell, it is creepy. They are still in high school. I would never hang out with them, but it is still nice to know that I still got it.
It seems like EVERYONE in that restaurant is high. Even while working. I hear stories in the back about so-and-so's party where the weed smoke was so thick you couldn't see your own hand infront of your face. You would have probably giggled if you did. The girl who took my jacket confided in me that she was still feeling the mushrooms that she took the night before one day this week. I am surrounded by a bunch of druggies. Brain-dead morons. Yet, somehow they are on the same level as me.
Today was an interesting day. A woman and her mom came into the restaurant and sat in my section. As soon as I greeted them, the woman said "I know you." My first thought was "Damnit." I asked her how.
"We went to high school together!" Was her response.
"What is your name?" I asked her, pretty sure who she was now that she had brought it up.
"Well, I'm married now, but I was _____ _____." (I can't let you know what her name is. If she googles this and finds my weird-ass blog, I'm sure I'm going to get a lawsuit.)
Then my suspicions of who she was were solidified. I then called her by her high school nick-name and she reminded me that she hadn't heard that name in about 9 years. I then realized that it had been 9 years since I had seen her and I was now working at a corporately owned resturant in the suburbs. So, I reminded her that I had let her cheat off of my test in Junior year English and that I got caught and had to serve detention. I then took it a step further and said that I was nearly expelled and that it ruined my academic career and that was the reason that I am now 27 and working as a waiter.
Her and her mother laughed. I wished that the story was as easy as that and then took their drink orders.
She asked me what I had been doing since high school and if I still talked with anyone. I told her that I didn't talk to ANYONE that I knew in high school anymore and that the road that I had been on had been a long one filled with many twists and turns along the way. I also let her know that I was in management at two radio stations. (I had to make myself look good in some respect. It isn't a lie. It just sucks that I'm not anymore. My 10 year reunion is coming up next year. If I'm still a mobile DJ and a waiter at that time, I am NOT going! This was a pre-view of what I could expect if I did go.)
She is married. She has a job as an obstritition. I'm almost positive that you need a doctorate for that? Help me out, if you know. But, obviously - she is doing better than I am. I didn't get into much detail of what she has been up to in the past 9 years. Mainly, because I didn't care. I wanted to get her and her mother their food and to get them the hell out of there as soon as possible.
Then another table got sat right next to them. With a birthday. Just my luck. The first birthday that I've had to deal with since I've gotten there and it is right next to someone that went to high school with me and is doing much better than me. I have to sing to a random stranger that is turning 16 and holding a sloppily made ice cream sundae.
So, I put off the singing as long as possible. I actually lucked-out and the table with the girl from high school left before I had to embarrass myself for the couple of seconds of joy that this 16 year old chick would get from free ice cream.
The only good thing to come out of this situation is that the girl from high school was one of those "perfect girls." The kind that were not obtainable. They were the cheerleader type with the perfect body and all the connections. She would not pass for that anymore. I know that since high school I have put on a few pounds, but I am 10 times more fit than this girl was. It was so great. But, I wish that I had met her 6 months ago when I was on top of the world. Well, before a lying bitch shoved me off. But, I can't get into that right now. (The courts may, but I can't...)

But, let's go back in time a few days, shall we? The day was Monday, October 9th. I was working a double. Meaning, I worked the lunch and dinner shift. The lunch shift went very well. The dinner shift - not as well. The first table that I got was the start of it all. They were two women. Either sisters or friends, but they were the type that would never be satisfied. Nothing could go right. Long story short - they ordered a club sandwitch. It was served to them the way that they recommended it be served - half regular, half without tomato or mayo. They complained to the manager that it wasn't warm enough.
What?! A club sandwitch is made of cold cuts. See the operative word in that? The particular adjective that would negate their complaint - "cold!" Everyone that I've told this story to can't believe that the manager comped their meal because of their complaints.
The next table ordered a burger with fries that were un-seasoned. I forgot to put this in the system. This was my fault. It came out with salt on the fries and they sent it back. Because of this, they (Guess what happened. Come on. Guess!) asked for a manager! Two complaints right in a row? Never a good evening. So, the manager walked by me and without missing a step, said "you're cut." In non-restaurant terms - that means "go home."
He comped their meal as well.
I got no tips or an opportunity to defend myself in either situation. The third table gave me (roughly) a 30% tip. This didn't matter. I walked out of there with more money than anyone else working a lunch shift (which doesn't pay well at all) and only one dinner table. But, luckily I was able to catch most of the football game when I got home.
Am I a bad server? I don't think so. When talking with the other severs (even the more experienced ones) I end up with the greater amount of tips a the end of the night. Surely, that must account for something. I think I was just given two grumpy tables back to back and it made me look bad. But, then that is from my perspective. From the perspective of someone else - I really don't care what they see.

Today at 3pm we had a meeting at work. It was for all the folks that were hired at the same time as me to discuss the training process as well as our impressions of waiting tables for the past month. It was at this time that we could call out those who were a pain in the ass to us as well as those who were great.
Most of the people who I work with (as I said earlier) are great. No problem. However, there are two people who shouldn't be working so closely with the general public. Their people skills are that of a rabid bear.
Without even having to name names, the two people were introduced in conversation as problems without my prompting. So, I kept my mouth shut. I figured, why bring them up if other people were going to do it for me. You may have read in another posting about the bitch who asked us how many ounces of caramel go on a dessert. She came up. Another server was awful at training us. Her name came up.
So, hopefully these two women will have a short life left as an employee of this company. Or at the very least, have their privileged responsibilities stripped of them by those of us who are more competent.
We will see if justice prevails in the corporate restaurant industry very shortly.
You know, I just realized that I have invested too much interest into this whole thing. I hope to be out of there as soon as humanly possible. Yet, I want to be sure that the best people possible are in place at a restaurant that I hope to leave soon. What is wrong with me? I think that I might be joining the whole "cultish" atmosphere that they present to us. I am too concerned. I am too invested. I am too in.

Help me out, friend. I don't mean help me with this situation - I mean - HELP ME OUT!!!