Lola

I decided to change my blog because, frankly, my life is beautiful and calm and not particularly entertaining.  My job, however, can be quite.

Have you ever been asked my a 6'5'', 300 lb man if you could apply his makeup for him?  Now, I have.

Restaurants are always looking for dishwashers.  They come and go faster than the week's fish special.  I don't know why.  There's been many a night where I would give anything to be the dishwasher.  Peacefully going about your job and watching a mountain of dirty dishes transform into a sparkly pile.  I think it is because it tends to be a lonely job preformed by randy teenage boys who want anything but to be alone with only the occasional lusty buss girl dumping another load by. 

The weekend before last we had just such a specimen in covered with tatoos with his pants half way down his ass sporting a bit of an attitude and for the second weekend in a row phoned with a tale of woe as to why he couldn't come in Friday night so despite a fully loaded reservation book for the next night we had to fire him. 

Then next morning a guy came in asking if we needed a dishwasher.  My boss, who happened to be cooking at the time, and desperately trying to come up with a plan for who we could con into coming dishwash that evening, was thrilled and threw out some standard questions, do you have a resume?  Have you ever dishwashed before?  It turns out buddy hasn't worked for 8 years due to his severe schizophrenia.  But he assurred us he hadn't had an "epsiode" in six months.  Good enough.  Start tonight.

Well all was pretty fine.  He did a great job, if a little creepy.  The next day, pretty much the same, with a little more creepy thrown in.  Then last night.   I was working by myself and tatoo guy comes in demanding his cheque trying to be all intimidating so I finally get rid of him while still running back and forth to my various tables.  I am in the back getting some coffee for some customers and Creepy comes in the kitchen all excited asking me to make a reservation for him for next week.  So I take him out to the reservation book and ask what day, what time and he is literally hopping from foot to foot, bouncing up and down.

 "It's a first date, it has to be real romantic"
 OK
 "No really romantic, it's with Phil"
 I keep writing
 "Did you hear me, it's my first date with Phil" 
Great
"You didn't know I was that way did you, did you?"
No but whatever
"Yes, it's my first date with Phil, I want it to be really romantic with candles but he is kind of shyandheiscomingovertonightandIlitcandlesandit'smyfirstdatewithPhil.  But Don't tell anyone"
okay

A little while later I am serving dessert to woman who smells worse than any smell I have ever smelled and I am forced to hold my breath when the door bursts open again and 6"5, 300 lb Creepy is there again. Great.

"Ummm I was just wondering if you were working on the Tuesday when I'm coming for my first date with Phil?"
No, I'm thankfully off that night
"Cause I'm going to wear a dress and I need someone to do my makeup for me"
me trying desperately to hide my expression

Now I should just say here, I personally have no problem with C, or anyone else for that matter, wearing a dress where ever he likes but we live in a conservative, little village where the predominate industry consists of logging with a dash of tourism and two elite very conservative international private schools. I can not imagine any man wearing a dress anywhere in the community unless it was accompanied by a sporran.

"Cause if you were working I could just come in early and you could do my makeup for me, but since you're not maybe you could just come to my house and do my makeup cause I want to look beautiful"
"Well......first of all, I'm not really a make up sort of girl and I have a family and we're pretty busy on our days off so...no"
"Do you think maybe one of the other girls could do it for me cause I have all the make up and everything I just want to look beautiful"
At this point I was contemplating the look on my boss's face when Creepy comes in for dinner that night with his dress and lipsticked moustache.  I'm slightly tempted to leave it at that but think better of it.
"Ya know C, we're just not that kind of restaurant and I'm worried you might feel a little uncomfortable.  It's probably not a good idea"
"I won't feel uncomfortable, I like wearing a dress and I look very beautiful in it"
"I'm sure you do but maybe you could save that for a special surprise for later in the date, hmmm"
"I won't feel uncomfortable"

I just can't take anymore at this point and I'm starting to notice that irritated, desperate look of wanting for something eminating from smelly so I tell Creepy I've got to go and thankfully he leaves.  So now I have to figure how to dissuade gargantuan Creepy from princessing up for dinner by next Tuesday.