New tale of awesome:
Last night, it was really slow at work. About 30 minutes before we closed, I decided to head into the office and take care of some invoices. I told the bartender what I wasgoing to do, and to come get me immediately for any sort of issue. As I finished my batch, the door to the office opened. It was the bartender. "The jefe is coming. The jefe is coming!" Shit. I stood up, and went to sort of jog (all right, I ran) to the bar.
I had on inappropriate shoes again last night. So what? Oh, and it was the end of the night, so the dishwasher was mopping the floor. There's a proven amazing combo for me. Appropriate or inappropriate shoes do not matter. Wet floors are very slippery. WHAM! My feet went out from under me and suddenly, I was on the floor. "Help me get up!", I cried. The bartender looked very concerned. He and a server grabbed my arms and hoisted my graceful ass upright again. I scooted (not ran) out to the bar, and sat in the last stool, right as the jefe walked in the door. Phew!
I played it off all suave & shit, chatted with the boss, gave him the update on the night and then he left. And then I cried because I bruised my palm. The hell? I didn't even know that was possible.
Speaking of wet floors and previous injuries, I have in ingrown hair right next to my awesome new scar from the ice machine incident. Which makes it look all swollen and red. Because it wasn't sexy enough before.