What Happens When We Talk About Boys.

Okay, so last night, my good friend Lemon and I were sitting at the bar having a drink when we spotted this mega attractive guy at the table behind us. Naturally, we went into creepy mode and started trying to sneak pictures of him to send to our best friend John Hamm, who just recently moved out to Boston and abandoned us all. All of said pictures came out blurry and accomplished nothing other than embarrassment.

blurrybreakfast

So, anyway, John Hamm is dating the head chef at this restaurant (where Lemon and I also work). You haven't met him yet, duckies, but we'll call him Snape because... well... he kind of looks like Snape... if Snape showered every once in a while and smiled sometimes, too. Plus, he cooks amazing food, which is kind of like being a potions master, right?

Anyway... back to the blurry yet attractive man at the table and our texting conversation about him.

Lemon: Snape thinks he's gay... :( This has thrown us into second-guessing.

John Hamm: What, hot guy?

Me: No... Snape. Duh.... Like... you're his beard.

John Hamm: Ho boy... This is awkward.

Me: I think he and the sous chef are running away together.

I'd like to take a moment to point how just how quickly we got derailed from talking about the hot guy here. And no, Snape is not gay. That we know of.

Lemon: Now I'm paranoid... Because he is NOT gay in my head... Hot guy. Not Snape.

John Hamm: I'm just going to have to vehemently prove everyone wrong when he comes out here.

Me: GROSS!!

Lemon: Soooo... As witnessed by no one?

Me: Or everyone....

John Hamm: I can make you guys witnesses, but I feel like you wouldn't like that.

Lemon: ...do I get popcorn?

Me: And tomatoes to throw at you guys?

John Hamm: That's your prerogative.

Lemon: Can we yell "boo" when necessary?

Me: And applaud when deserved? Golf claps only, of course.

Lemon: Yeah, we don't want to distract you.

John Hamm: There will be no booing, as it will be spectacular from beginning to end.

Me: Oh!! And we can judge it "Dancing With the Stars" style!!! I want to be Bruno.

Lemon: I'm Len!!

John Hamm: You'll need a third.

Me: Um... Gumby. Obvi. He can be Carrie Ann.

John Hamm: Aw! He'll be enthused for me.

Me: But he'll critique your foot work!

Lemon: That means we get scoring paddles... Which you are prohibited from utilizing. Get your own! Oh! and I will use a cranky British accent!

Me: Yeah! I'll work on rolling my R's and getting all animated with my shoulders to the point of not being able to stay seated.

John Hamm: Just hang out with your mom for a while.

Me: Truth.

Lemon: This conversation took a strange turn...

John Hamm: Strange, but true... Also, it started strange.

Lemon: Eh, more or less.

Me: I can't wait for the Internet tomorrow...

Someone Get Me My Prince and Mice. I Should Be On My Way to a Ball.

So, on weekends I work as a hostess and a really swanky wine bar/restaurant. I like this job because it involves wine it's a chance for me to look really nice every Saturday night, plus the people I work with give me wine are awesome. Most of the time.

This past Saturday, we had a couple that came in to celebrate their anniversary. Their dinner was being bought for them by a friend who had called and given us his credit card information over the phone.

So, at the beginning of the night, I handed their server the paper with the credit card number, as well as the greeting card that she was supposed to hand to the couple in lieu of their check.

Pretty straightforward, right? Apparently not.

Around 8:45 that night...

Server: Oh my gosh.

Me: What's up?

Server (rummaging through her pockets): Oh no....

Me: ...what?

Server: Emelie... I think... I threw away the credit card information for that table.

Me: ...no. No. You're joking.

Server: Nope. It's gone. I probably felt it and thought it was trash!

Me: Well.. when?

Server: I don't know! I've been slammed all night!

Me: Well... which trash can?

Server: Um... it could be in any of them!

Me: Okay... Um... Just go back to serving... I'm not doing much right now so I'll start digging.

And I did, duckies. I threw an apron on over my pretty dress, snapped on some latex gloves like an M.D., and went trash diving. Because I'm a dedicated employee.

I hid myself in the kitchen so that none of the customers could see me, because there's nothing less appetizing than a girl digging through the trash at the restaurant in which you're trying to have an upscale dining experience.

Cook: Emelie... what are you doing?

Me: Oh, you know... looking for food.

Cook: ...

Me: I'm looking for a piece of paper that has a credit card number on it.

Cook: Aw, that sucks, Cinderella.

Me: Yes. Yes it does. Especially since I'm a vegetarian and most of what I'm touching right now is chewed up animal carcass.

Cook: Yeah, makes you want to convert back to meat, doesn't it?

Me: Oh yeah, that's how you'll get me back. Make me dig through it all with my hands in the trash. Appetizing.

Cook: Yeah... we didn't think that one through...

So I continued to dig and dig until another server walked back to bring some dirty dishes into the kitchen.

Server #2: Emelie... what are you doing?

I explained.

Server #2: Oh man, that sucks!

Me: I know.

She left and then all of a sudden burst back through the door

Server #2: Wait... do you mean this?

She held out a piece of paper... the piece of paper.

Server #2: I found it on the ground like an hour ago and forgot to say anything because I was so busy!

Me: Yaaayyy...

So... I'd like my pumpkin carriage now, please. Or a prince... no glass slippers, though... that's just asking for disaster.