You have heard of Wonder Woman, Superman, Spiderman and Oprah but all those overachievers pale in comparison to the super-human waitron that I was a few night ago. There should have been a phone booth in the room for me to slip into so I could take off my regular uniform and put on a cape and mask because there was some amazing service happening up in there. I was a goddamn mother fucking superhero server. I hate to toot my own horn but toot mother fucker toot. (Anyone who reads this blog regularly knows that I have absolutely no problem with tooting my own horn…)
We were short staffed so I was the only one on the floor. We had reservations for about 30 people so we figured it would be no problem for me to handle a show that size all on my own. Well, since people in this world don’t know how to RSVP or make a reservation, the audience swelled to 58. That means that all fifty-eight people showed up at the same time and all of them needed their two-drink minimum during the course of a 60 minute show. And some of these people were future friends of AA because they embraced the fact that we have no maximum and guzzled down cocktail after cocktail making things even busier. Their unquenchable thirst for the booze may have been attributed to the performer they were there to see. This “singer” had some major pitch issues and seemed to enjoy changing keys in the middle of a song. I’m all for key changes, but it’s usually best when done in synchronicity with the accompanying musicians. Otherwise, it sounds like a big train wreck. Remember that guy William Hung on American Idol? The singer was like him but he sounded like he had just eaten Fozzy Bear from the Muppets and Fozzy was trying to claw his way out of this guy’s stomach. His music drove people to drink. It reminded me of It’s a Wonderful Life when that little girl says, “every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings.” But in this case, every time a sour note is hit, table 28 gets another Rubytini. Ch-ching!
I swooped in like a Dark Phantom and removed empty glasses and replaced them with full ones. Hummus and cheese plates appeared like magic thanks to my trusty sidekick, Nick the Bus Boy. People where overwhelmed with my speed, efficiency and stealth-like moves as I practically floated between tables. (Okay, that one guy at table 22 saw me drop an empty beer bottle onto the floor, but even superheros need someone to see the occasional mistake. It makes us more approachable despite our brilliance and keeps our humility in check.) One customer seemed to be flirting with me and he became my Lois Lane. “You’re really busy tonight,” he said. “All in a day’s work, my good man, all in a day’s work,” I replied as I zipped off to another section to deliver four glasses of water. “My hero,” he said as he clasped his hands underneath his chin and batted his eyelashes.
At the end of the hour, the tips rained down upon me. As the checks were closed, I held my breath until I could rest assured that no mistakes had been made. Nick the Bus Boy and Tom the Bartender (superhero-in-training) began cleaning the room as I organized my checks and begin to count the money. There were no problems. All credit cards matched up and all the cash that had been thrown at me was more than enough to cover the checks. I was sitting on a pile of money that would be distributed to my fellow superhero co-workers. As we looked at our three piles of tips, we dreamed about how we could best use this lofty sum. Seeing that I was feeling all superhero-ish, it was evident that my cut of the tips would go directly to Madonna to help her with her dream of opening a school in Malawi, Africa. Her speech on The Oprah Winfrey Show really moved me. Not really. I crammed that pile of money into my pocket and made plans to spend it at this cool bar called Lani Kai. This superhero needs to take off the cape and have a big fancy cocktail with an umbrella in it. That’s what Superman would do, I just know it.