Sunday, May 03, 2009

I've become the girl who cries at work. I fucking hate crying. I hate losing control of my emotions.

Tonight, my GM asked me about a particular table. He was all "I want to buy her tab. The whole thing, whatever they want." I told him I'd been given a prepaid form, meaning someone else had already paid for it. He said, "Okay, well just take good care of them." "Of course, boss. I always do." "I know.", he said, and we both went back to work. Then, I started to wonder. So, I sought him out. "Hey, boss...why'd you wanna buy her dinner?" "Oh, because she came here as her dying wish. Make-a-Wish called me and said her last wish was to eat here with her husband." And I suddenly welled up with tears that wouldn't abate. I refused to be morose at her table in front of her, because how I dare I? But, in the kitchen, in the dish pit, in the bathroom, at the wine wall, all over the place, the fat, hot tears would just fall out of my eyes.

Jesus, I am an asshole. All I want to do once I'm in the Thunderdome is hurry up and get the hell out of it. This woman is going to die, most likely in days, not weeks, and all she wants to do is go have a nice dinner with her husband.

Dear Nice Lady - I hope your dinner was good. You were truly a pleasure to serve. I hope you're comfortable and as happy as you can be for as long as possible.

Humbly yours,
Heather