THURSDAY, JULY 14, 2011 — 05:21:48 PM Tonight is going to be might be hell.
07:30:41 PM Today has been hell. But really, it’s not so bad. I’ve handled it like a pro. There were two rival pharmaceutical dinners, both in urology, for some reason. Projectors set up and famous doctors speaking and research PhD whatevermajigs just standing around like they own the place. And then there was Jennifer Robertson, who made a reservation for two separate tables next to each other and came in with what looked like her son and his girlfriend. and she just sat there at the table next to theirs, waiting for her date for like half an hour as they ate their meal. Completely awkward as hell. But then they walked out the doors before his mother could finish HER little date, and I was like fuck yeah, man, fight the power.
08:23:49 PM I haven’t had any time to write or socialize tonight (except with the customers). We’ve been slammed. But I see Garamond today–it’s hard not to. I swear he’s like seven feet tall. And he’s standing by the cashier stand and seems to be looking over here… and now he’s back at the bar, hidden behind the wine rack.
Pluto is, of course, back in the kitchen, probably washing shit. I’ll get to talk to him when I get cut. I wonder how good his English is. Hahaha it will be fun to try to speak Spanish. I can understand it pretty well, but my vocabulary is lacking. Uhh hay una fiestita a mi casa viernes y me gustaría invitarte. ¿Fumas la ganja? Jajajajaja…
I’m like the huntress stalking her prey or some shit. Why do I have friends.
Zenzen was just holding the doors open with me for the last stragglers of the urology dinners, and when everyone had gone, he said “Everybody lahves Klara,” in his funny little voice. I’ve kind of gotten that impression tonight, so I was like, “Really?” and he nodded. Gosh! Stuff like that makes me smile. On nights like tonight, I feel really good at my job. It’s a nice, warm feeling. 
09:01:56 PM Things haven’t really slowed down enough for me to invite Garamond. When it gets kind of quiet and sleepy in here, I’ll get cut, and the bartenders usually have to stay until everyone leaves. So, then, the huntress shall pounce.
Ha, it’s like a game to me. A very fun little social game. I might be in a mood, but I really genuinely want to get acquainted with these individuals. Foreal, they are super cool as far as I can tell. But it’s the fuckin’ social olympics, and I’m doing backflips through flaming hoops. Pretty tough on a half-blood introvert, y’know?
Sometimes I wonder if I’m even making sense.
09:29:04 PM “Hey Garamond.”
“Hey, how’re you?”
“Tired. Bored. Not dying, for once.”
“Well, that’s good. Hey, what’s your name?”
Fuck. He doesn’t even know who I am. I’m such a creep. “I’m Klara!”
“Well, nice to meet you!”
I laughed. Don’t say something awkward don’t say something awkward. “What’re you up to tomorrow after work?” Not as bad as it could have sounded.
“Probably going out or something. Why?”
“Wellll~ I’m trying to get a few people together from work to come over to my house and partake of various substances, to put it bluntly.” That pun was completely unintentional, so I didn’t force the issue.
A pause, then, “Excellent. I’ll be there.”
“Fabulous!” And back to the hostess stand I go. Fuck yeah. Now, the waiting game. It’s like, from 9:00 PM on, my mind focuses on waiting to get cut. It’s kind of fun not having set hours, but the anticipation! I can’t handle the uncertainty!! (I think that was a Toy Story quote, actually. I’ll have to look that up.)
I make no sense why do I have friends.
??:??:?? PM Hahaha awww Pluto. I went into the private room as usual to eat after I got cut. None other than Pluto was sitting at the very end of the far right table, folding napkins by himself. I would have sat next to him, but I didn’t want to get all of the napkins dirty by some freak accident (as would be my luck), so I sat at the left table. I tried talking with him from across the room, but the acoustics in there are less than conducive to that sort of thing, so I was like hmm.
And, slowly, I started shoving my table all the way across the floor until it touched his. He looked at me incredulously, but when I smiled he smiled. And then, we could hear each other–an improvement, at least! “I am so tired.” A pretty typical conversation starter around this time of night. “Yeah, me, too. It’s been a long day, hasn’t it?” I replied. He smiled and shook his head a little. “I had to get up at five this morning.”
“Dang, why’d you have to do that?”
“I fix roofs.”
“Ahh, that must suck. Too early for me. I bet you get a lot of business, though!” (There have been a shit ton of storms this summer. Power was out for a week at my house, trees down, tornadoes all over the fuckin’ place, hail damage, wind damage–half of our sign outside was blown off and we’re currently still holding the other half on with rope.)
“Yeah, I’m just so tired, though.” He said it with a shy smile, somehow. There’s a certain point while you’re working under sleep deprivation where you get delirious.
“Do you normally talk this much? Your English is very good.”
“Haha, no, but my English is better than my Spanish sometimes.” And then he remembered to retreat back into his usual silence.
“Ohhh~,” I noted. Perhaps the hispanohablantes here think he’s super quiet because he’s too shy to speak Spanish with them? God knows. I took some time to eat about half of my salad–it was delicious; I allowed myself caesar dressing. Then I asked, “Do you like parties? Like, you know, dancing? Drogas?”
He took a moment to be amused with my sign language, then he replied, “I don’t dance, usually,” and turned his attention back to his folding.
Ha. I knew his type. I could get him dancing.
