I have a few work stories. Mostly about the dishwashers.
First of all, Baggins. Real name Jimmy (I think?). I kept walking past him thinking that for some reason, he reminded me of Lord of the Rings, when suddenly it hit me—he looks like Bilbo Baggins from the freaking cartoon. I told him so, too, after I clarified that it wasn’t just me. Both Adrianna and Sandra, when I pointed it out to them, said, “Wow, I’ve been trying to figure out who he looked like that I knew—but you’re right!” And several others agreed. I can’t call him Hobbit, obviously, though, because I had a Hobbit last year (the guy who resembled Dominic Monaghan). So he is Baggins. I enjoy walking past him and Wraithing, “Shhhhhhiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrrre…Baaaaaggiiiiiiinnnnnnsssss….” Strangely, I don’t think he really enjoys it.
Michelle and I decided that all the dishwashers have dishwasheritis—there’s something wrong with all of them. So we were going to start ranking them 1-10, 10 being the absolute worst. John, we decided, was #3, and this is his nickname—#3.
Then we have Druggie. Self-explanatory. And Druggie’s friend, who has no nickname as of yet. And A.J. But that’s his real name; we haven’t given him a nickname, either. Actually, besides Druggie and his friend, I quite like all of the dishwashers, and especially the Cute One—Patrick. (The one who kept turning red and trying to make me smile the other night.)
I was freaking out earlier this week because, while I usually come right out and tell a guy when I like him, I found myself unable to even speak to Patrick. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong.
But after complaining about this to several people, I realized it was something I had to do, and therefore it was going to be done. I went into work last night resolved, and I was (I think) rewarded for it. (I could be wrong. But I don’t think I am.)
I arrived, and #3 was the only dishwasher there, to my disappointment, and he said, “I don’t think any of the other dishwashers are going to show up today, so I’m going to go insane.”
“Me too!” I said. I would have, too.
But I didn’t have long to wait—about five minutes before we opened, Patrick appeared.
I should point out that most people have not heard Patrick speak. He’s very quiet. So the fact that he speaks to me, in my opinion, is saying something.
So he appeared right in front of me. And he turned and saw me, and the corners of his mouth went up ever-so-slightly, and he came around to where I could hear him and said, “What are you looking at me for, huh? What’s that all about?”
I said, with a coy smile to match his own, “You were right in my line of vision! I couldn’t help it!” And he walked away laughing.
A few minutes later, he was putting these big tray things away, and he came up acting all like he was gonna throw them at me, and again walked away grinning, so I was grinning when Bob came out to check on the food, and I said, “Bob…I like the dishwasher.”
He stared at me blankly for a moment until he realized what I was talking about, and then his face broke into a smile, too, and he said, “Well, you have to talk to him! He’s so quiet, he’s never going to speak to you first!”
“I’ve got it under control, Bob,” I said. “Don’t worry.”
“Well, you’ve both got something in common,” he said. “You both can’t mop.” I thought that was cute, and told him so.
A bit later, I was standing alone, when I heard this drumming sound, and somebody approached and nudged my arm. I assumed it was Bob, replacing a tray, but when I looked, it was Patrick. He was drumming on a pot. And singing.
“Serrrrrving food in the cafeteria…..” he sang. I swear. And I laughed. And he did, too, and walked away again.
Bob was coming in as he was leaving and said, grinning broadly, “Wow, making progress, huh?”
And then, of course, I ran to the other end to tell the girls, but Adrianna had already seen it, and before I could say anything, had said, “Oh my gosh, Ginny, I saw that! Oh my gosh!”
I was just happy. I was smiling genuinely.
So later, I found as many excuses to go back and dump trays and stuff out as possible, and one of these times, he was singing very loudly and obnoxiously (but intentionally so, not like some other guys I’ve met who think they can sing but can’t) along with some 80s song on the radio, I can’t remember which one—something about, “I want to take you home with me” or “go home with you”, or…I can’t remember. And I looked up at him seriously and said, “You’re a music major, aren’t you?”
He looked slightly surprised and was starting to say seriously, “No, I’m—” and then he saw my eyes, and said, “Hey, shut up!” and I walked away laughing that time.
When I returned a minute later, #3, who was putting things into the dishwasher (er—the machine one) caught my eye as he was talking to Patrick, who had moved out of my vision to talk to him.
#3 said, “Dude, do you like her!?”
I could neither see nor hear the response to this.
“Do you want to make out with her!?” #3 continued.
Still, I couldn’t see or hear anything.
“Well, why don’t you just tell her how you feel??” #3 demanded.
I couldn’t hide, of course. He knew I’d been listening. So I just went back, scared the hell out of Patrick, and said, “I heard that.”
“Well, don’t you want him to tell you, Ginny? Wouldn’t you want to know!?”
I just smiled and returned to the line. I didn’t make eye contact with him that time—that was quite awkward.
But when I went out again, Del—one of the chefs—was singing and jumping up and down, and Patrick leaned over, grinning, nudged me and said, “He’s on crack.”
“I know!” I said. “Like, literally, he is—I know!” and we just laughed, and…that was the last thing I said to him last night, I think.
I should also mention the cheese. We had excess pizza cheese and made pictures in it—like, a swan, a canoe with a person in it, a beach scene complete with palm tree, cloud, sun, and boat, and the Magic Lamp with Genie emerging from it. We kept having Tyler guess at stuff—he was really enjoying it.
Then we decided we should make Jesus, melt it, and sell it on eBay. Michelle got to work. She made a cross and covered it with sausages as the body, and then little bits of ham for blood, and we ran to get Tyler, who laughed really hard and said, “That’s my favorite one!”
A little while later, Bob was putting things away, saw the cheese, did a double-take, and grinned up at me. “What is that!?” he said. Michelle and I were just laughing, and he picked it up, carried it into the kitchen, and called, “Del! Del, where are you, you’ve gotta see this!”
Del never appeared, so Bob said conspiratorially, “Hey, Ginny, why don’t you take this back to the dishwasher?”
“Of course, Bob,” I said seriously.
Patrick took the tray, did a double-take, too, and said, with an expression of mingled horror and amusement, “Who did that!?”
After I stopped laughing, I said, “Michelle, she’s the artistic one!” And he showed it to #3, and that was the last I saw of it.
I think he likes me. I really do. Unless I’m misreading things.