TUESDAY, JULY 12, 2011 — 04:57:57 PM The restaurant looks completely different when we’re closed. All the lights are turned on. Then, for some reason, we dim them exponentially when it’s time for customers to come in. But right now, pre-5:00, the kitchen workers come out of their cave and clean shit.
You know, before I worked here, I had no idea the amount of work that goes into making a restaurant function. I bet you’re not aware that someone dusts the salad bar each and every day. Waiters get here early to start folding bags of cloth napkins from whatever laundry company we hand them off to. Haha, and I like the guy who is cleaning the frosted glass on the half walls today. He has this knowing smile about him. Doesn’t say anything, though. From what I can decipher of the Spanish conversation going on, they call him Pluto because he “está en otra planeta todo el tiempo.” And he doesn’t disagree, doesn’t even say anything in response. Just chuckles a little as he finishes up his dusting.
Individuals like Pluto intrigue me. I know they all have some kind of intense, vibrant inner world in the great depths of their brains. I’ll have to get to know him, as well as mohawked man. Muhaha, my guest list is growing.
07:12:26 PM So bartenders often double as servers — they have all the drinks memorized already, so why not? And when I seated that last table, there was the mohawked man, all nicely combed down and bowtied, ready to greet the table. “I got this one.” His voice is fairly deep; he would probably sing baritone. I also admire that East Tennessee hasn’t permeated his speech entirely. His west-coast flow only has a slight twang tacked on the end, kinda like me.
I went to the back to take a sip from my diet coke. He was standing, autonomously scrawling the codes for their drink orders onto a pad of note paper, and I jumped at the chance to say, “Hey, I still don’t know your name!” A glance up from his scribbling, “Garret,” a half smile.
“Really?” I casually responded. I didn’t expect a response, and yet…
“Garamond, actually.”
“Oh! Garamond’s a cool name, bro! Why would you even change it?”
A smirk, a chuckle. “Lots of reasons, but you can call be Garamond if you want.” And he put the tab in the basket and hoisted his tray onto his fingertips as he reentered the dining room.
Like he fuckin’ owns the place. Sheesh! There are three things that could be the case: he was trying to impress me, he has some grandiose personality disorder, or he actually is the shit. Not mutually exclusively, though. It could be all three.
08:26:46 PM Hahaha I just checked the restrooms (cleaned them up and all that). I looked in the mirror and pink eyes were staring back at me. Hahaha I’m a little stoned. The lines of text in my notepad kind of slope and collide. I’m just now feeling it because I took a gel capsule of liquid THC before work — medical-grade, California shit. Comes up slow and easy, then last eight to twelve hours or so. Fuckin’ brilliant.
Oh, yeah, man, it’s no problem to work in this state. Marcél is working today. She doesn’t give a shit. She KNOWS, man. In fact, she’s another quirky one I should mention. From what I can gather, she’s nothin’ but a hippie. She’s Brazilian, of course, since she’s a manager, but she smells like incense half the time and ganja all the rest of it. When she works, everything is very chill. I’d call her a peacemaker type. She never sounds frustrated about anything.
I”d imagine if two waiters were competing for a particular table, she would suggest that they split it in half so that one of the served two people and the other took care of the other couple. One would be like, “Sounds fair,” and the other would say, “That might be annoying. You take it, man.” And Marcél would ask the one who cared about the customers to serve the table, and the other one would just walk off.
She’s not quite old and wise like King Solomon, but she is at least thirty. Would that be weird? To invite a manager to my party? … Naww she’s pretty much the bomb. Dang, I’m managing to have created quite a list already! Maybe I should invite someone who kind of bridges the age gap? Hmm, let’s see…
I could invite the new waitress that just came in today, but I know even less about her than anybody else here. Plus, she looks kinda normal. She has that light in her eyes, though, the sparkle that indicates that they are completely open. Some people have dull eyes, eyes that don’t draw much attention, eyes that don’t see. But this lady has almost brown eyes that shimmer with green ether. And she sure does smile a lot…
Fuck it. I’ll invite her. She’s gorgeous. Is she bi? She’s gotta be. Look at her! My gaydar isn’t trustworthy, though. Time surely will tell.
09:38:00 PM Time passes so quickly when I write. It’s almost time to get cut (relieved of my hostess duties for the evening)! I have quite a get-together to plan tonight. 
