The Dishwasher Story

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.


Condemned Like Prometheus

So there were these twins who used to annoy Tinny and me every time they came in, and they always wore black sweaters–always.  Well, one of them works at the cafe now.  Yesterday was her first day.  Her name’s Katrina, and she’s so quiet.  Everything she says, I’m like, “What???” and I have to lean in like two inches from her face to hear her.  I am not exaggerating.

I was waiting for her twin to walk in, and when she finally did…she came right up to Katrina and they practically put their noses together–again, not exaggerating–probably in order to hear each other, and they were way far away from me, but they looked all excited, and they put their hands on each other’s shoulders and bounced a little.  And then they’re just standing there squeaking to each other (I’m serious, they squeak) and the one who just came in sort of rolled up on her tippy toes and came back down, and then the other one did the same thing, and then the other one did that again, so it looked like a see-saw.

In Creative Writing today, we were all sitting down, and Know-It-All said, “I really hope we don’t go over what we turned in on Wednesday, because mine is shit….”

The Third Wilson Brother (that’s it, I’ve got his new nickname–L’Owen) was sitting at his desk working on something, with every appearance of not listening—of course, he always is listening, whether he appears to be or not.  So he said, “We will be going over those short stories we read over the weekend.”

In a chorus, all four of us in our group said, “Ohhh shit.”

He said, “Well, the short stories we were supposed to read over the weekend.”

Then we were asked to get into our groups and take out one sheet of paper for the four of us, and we were going to answer some questions for a reading quiz.  “This is a creative writing class, dammit!” I said.  “We can make up the answers.”

So we did.  We had a lot of fun with it, too.  L’Owen was giving us looks every now and then—hee.  Like…one of the questions was how a certain character referred to another character—he was “condemned like (insert character from mythology here)”.  We put “Prometheus”.  (Of course, it was Sisyphus.)  And then there was another where we had to name what two items a character had for breakfast.  (The answer was dry toast and black coffee, but we put “eggs benedict and coffee”.)

There was another question where we had to say how many potholders a certain character had—we guessed 126.  The answer, incredibly, was 120.  And another one, Corey said, “I swear to God, I saw it in there.  The answer is ‘Stargazer’” and we actually got it right!

So later, we’re working on a new assignment, and L’Owen is checking everyone’s answers, and he calls out into the silence in this sarcastic voice, “Prometheus” and gives us this look of scornful amusement.  Then a second later he said, “Eggs benedict” in the same voice.  Ahahaha.  Well…we certainly enjoyed it.

I’ve been trying to talk to Dann for a few days now about getting Fridays off (Michelle’s going to take Sundays).  I don’t think it’s going to happen, though.  The problem is (not that we really need one, because these are the slowest days of the week) they don’t have another server to replace us.  And they aren’t going to hire one when they have us.  And we can’t stop working those days until they hire somebody new.  Basically, we’re stuck working six days a week until we leave this job.  And that is why I am planning to find a new job if they won’t give me Fridays off.  I can’t believe it would have to come to that, but I need a freaking life.  And they don’t want me to have one.  I’m serious, it’s the only complaint I have about that job.  It’s fine apart from that; I just wish they’d stop being so unreasonable.

Calls From the Stalker and Density

The stalker called tonight at 9:15, right on schedule.  And, of course, he explained (in his message—I never intend to answer the phone to him again) that he hasn’t been able to call for the past few days because he’s been working.

It was interesting tonight—I think he’s finally getting the message (sort of).  First of all, when he said, “Hey Ginny, this is Mark” as he always does, he then added, almost as an afterthought, “…Mark, from Ruby Tuesdays”, as if I’d forgotten.

Mark from Ruby Tuesdays explained that he no longer cares if we go out again or if I even speak to him again afterward, but that he wants to have a phone conversation to explain that he’s not the horrible player I’m making him out to be.

Then he asked me to call him back and left his number!

Well, for a moment or so, I actually felt bad and thought, “Maybe I should let the guy explain”—before I reminded myself that I never thought he was a player, just a bad date—I had to remind myself that I set him up.  The point was for me to look psychotic enough to discourage him and send him on his way; therefore, I will not call back.  There won’t be another conversation with this guy.

So at the end of class yesterday, The Third Wilson Brother put us in groups so we can write this short story thing at the beginning of class tomorrow.  Our group is totally the coolest.  Me, Know-It-All, Corey, and this other guy named Dean who is probably the only other person in the class apart from us who isn’t a total weirdo.

I find it ironic that nowadays I consider a group with Know-It-All in it cool.  Have I been brainwashed!?

Work is…well, it’s not bad.  I still work six days a week and have no idea when the hell that’s going to change.

I can’t think of anything else to say at this moment, and as I’m really into this book anyway, I’m going to go read.

To stupidity and beyond!

Even though they were broken up, Cortney had gotten Drew a gift for their one-year anniversary, and was still undecided as to whether or not she should get a card to go with it.

“If you can find one that’s really appropriate, then go for it,” I said.

So we went to the grocery store and looked at the different headings.

“Love?  Psh.  No!” Cortney said, bypassing that one.  “Birthday, no….”

And at the exact same moment, we both said, “Friendship” with huge grins, and moved over to begin examining them.  After all, he was the one who decided he wanted to be “friends”.

It didn’t take long to find the perfect one.  At the top, it said, “Things I Love About Our Friendship” and then there were all these little cartoons of these two girls sharing girly moments.  They actually looked a bit like us—the one with short, red, flipped-out hair, and the other with long, brown, curly hair—it was perfect for our purposes, though.

And so we headed to UNF, and Cortney presented Drew with the gift and the card.  He opened it, barely glanced at it, and said, “Thanks,” and then didn’t look at it again until about half an hour and quite a lot of sarcasm later.  Someone was talking, and I noticed that his gaze had fallen down to the card, and he was staring at it, probably thinking, “What the hell…?” when finally he looked up and said seriously, “Can I just ask a question?” at which point I had to restrain laughter, and then he said, “Am I supposed to be the brunette?”  (At which point it was impossible for either Cortney or I to restrain the laughter.)

Well, after much more awkwardness and sarcasm, he finally looked at Cortney and said, “Can I see you outside for just a second?” and they went, leaving Frank and me to speculate.  Frank engaged me in casual conversation for a few moments, but I had to look—“Are they kissing out there???” I said, and Frank said, “Yep,” and I leaned over to be sure, and they were, which excited me so much I had to go and call Nicole.

I love that Cortney’s psycho-manipulative methods worked, and he realized what a dumbass he would be if he gave her up, and that he just couldn’t stand standing there and not kissing her.  It was great.  It was totally like a movie.  Especially since she had originally told him she was going to kiss him senseless so he would want her back, and then didn’t do it.  He asked.  He said, “I thought you were going to give me this unbelievable kiss,” and she began to explain, “Well, I was, but I changed my m—” but he was already kissing her.  It was beautiful.  It was a total movie moment.  I’m so excited.  (And yes, perhaps he will get very small portions for a bit, just for all the hell he put Cortney through over the week, but I’m happy they’re back together.)

Then Cortney and I went to Nicole’s house and stayed until about 2:30.  We don’t get to do that often enough anymore.

At one point, around 12:30, we tried to call the Bad Date (the Stalker, the R.T.B., whatever you want to call him—he has many nicknames), so that Nicole could say, “Um, who is this?  Why do you keep calling my cell phone?”  His dad answered, went to get him, and no one ever came back to the phone.  So…okay…we just hung up.  Hahaha.

This I also found funny enough to include.  We were doing an all-play in Scene It, and we had to name what movie a certain clip was from (we all got Field of Dreams in, like, two seconds), and then Costner’s walking through the field, and at the exact same moment, all three of us whispered, “If you build it, he will come,” which caused Costner to turn around and look suspiciously out of the screen at us.  Cortney put his thoughts into words:  “How the hell did they know that was the next line?” at which we all laughed, and he turned back around, smiling faintly.  (Probably because he thought he was hearing things, but we chose to believe it was because he was laughing with us.)  It was all so perfectly-timed.

And I’m going to draw this entry to a close because I have another one to do that I think is going to be really, really long, and it’s already really, really late.

I Have No Idea

I had this freaky nightmare last night in which I was stuck in a huge maze with monsters.  It was nothing like Mazes and Monsters.  (There was no Jay-Jay.  With a wink to Cortney, who is the only one who will get that.)  It wasn’t really even like Labyrinth.  Maybe a bit like Goblet of Fire, but overall, really, it wasn’t like anything.

It was indoors, first of all, in this HUGE building, obviously, because the walls were really super-high.  The dividers between the rooms, I mean.  That’s what it was, a bunch of rooms, and you could see over the walls, but they were way too high to climb—way too high.  (Again—I suck at measurements and distances and such—I have no idea how to describe it.)  Okay…standing up straight, the walls were way taller than the highest part of our vaulted ceiling.  But even so, you could see that there were openings at the top, because the walls didn’t reach all the way to the ceiling.

Basically, we’re wandering through this labyrinth, and I think it’s just Katie and me, although I’m not really sure—it seems like Cortney or Nicole may have been there, too, and I really think Milo was probably around somewhere, but the one I remember distinctly (probably because she’s the last one I saw before I woke up) is Katie.

It felt very…Halloween-ish, and kinda Indiana Jones-ish, because I think we were in a freaking tomb or something.  Probably in Egypt.  (Maybe Greece, that might even make more sense.)

So we’re going through.  And we know there are monsters and crap in there.  Sporadically placed all throughout.  And we have to destroy them and such.  And the whole maze is just the giant, spacious rooms, with various doors leading all over, and narrow hallways, but all with the super-high ceilings, and we have no idea what’s through any doorway.  Then there was this huge scary giant thing that I think I threw over one of the walls…I got rid of him somehow.  And Katie, who had been separated from me somehow and was just over in the next room, yelled, “HOLY SHIT!  WAS THAT YOU!?”

So then we met up, and I was starting to think that maybe it all had somewhat of a Star Wars feel, and we were just laughing at nothing, because that’s what we do, when Katie’s expression completely contorted to one of horror as she looked at something behind me, and then something, whatever the hell it was, grabbed me and was carrying me away!

/scene.I H

And suddenly, a long-forgotten stalker returns from the grave….

Talking in my sleep has been frequent these past few days.  I have no idea what the hell I was dreaming this morning, but I woke up either in the middle of this, or during it…I don’t know, but I was saying it in my sleep:

“You keep looking for solutions to new scientific problems.  Understand the formulaic approach that science can never explain itself, and you’ve basically got it made.”

…!?  I don’t even know what that means!  I mean…what is that!?

You will never believe who called me today.  I hardly believed it myself; it had just been so long.  In fact, I think it’s been about two years since I heard from this person.

It was Brown Mucus.

I wasn’t home at the time, fortunately; my dad let me know, when he came back, that she had called.  But wow…the irony.

I realize that most of you have no idea who Brown Mucus is—it’s been that long.  Allow me to fill you in.

During high school, two of my stalkers were female.  Brown Mucus was one.  I met her through a few of my other friends.  She was always an oddball, with dirty, greasy hair, weird, unkempt eyebrows, and…well…she resembled a mouse, basically.

Brown Mucus’ favorite topics of conversation (the only topics, apparently, she knew how to discuss) were her boyfriend, her ex-boyfriend, the Jonas Brothers, whatever teeny-bop magazine she was currently reading, her period, and how sick she was.  Brown Mucus was always sick, and she always went into detail about it.  (Incidentally, the very name “Brown Mucus” comes from the time she informed me that she was headed to the bathroom with stomach issues, came back a few minutes later, and declared that she had thrown up the substance.)

She also had rapey tendencies and used to try to force me to make out with her boyfriend, and it was very frightening having her calling me obsessively all the time, even after she had moved to…Massachusetts, I think it was?

But I started avoiding her calls.  I was never home or never available when she called, and eventually she just sort of…gave up.

Now—oh, the irony of it all—now that I have another very real stalker, suddenly, she’s back.  Oh joy.

Stalkers, Beware!

On Tuesday I realized something—my history classes, when they end, feel like the ending of a weekly television drama.  They’re so interesting!  I’ve never been so interested in history classes.  It almost makes me want to take history up as a major.  (I won’t, I’m quite set in mine, but it’s that intriguing to me now.)

The stalker didn’t leave a message tonight, but he did reach a new record for calls—three within two minutes.  Does he honestly believe that, even if he could convince me he wasn’t playing anyone (not that I believe that anyway), I would want to go out with him now, after I’ve seen how desperate he is?  The guy has come full circle in his status of loser.

I deserve this, of course.  But I still choose not to look at it as punishment—rather, the stories I am getting out of this, and the enjoyment my friends take in listening to them, are a reward for Monica’s and my brilliance.  (Yes, that’s what I’m telling myself.)

I am, however, continuously punished because I am friendly.  So what if I smile at people?  I’m going to start glaring at everybody.  See how normal that looks. F&$*ers.

I was going to go into detail, but I don’t feel like it anymore.  I’m PMSing.  Sue me.

I got Tyler interested in Boingo.  The other day at work, when I was gushing about Danny Elfman, nobody knew what the hell I was talking about, but today Tyler came up to me and said, “Hey Ginny, what did you say was the name of Danny Elfman’s band?”  I told him, and he said, “Okay…yeah, I was watching Pee Wee’s Big Adventure today, and….”

And I said, “And you finally realized who Danny Elfman was?”  And he said, “No, I already knew, but I pointed out to my girlfriend that he used to be in a band, and she wanted to know what they were called so we could find them.”

Okay fine, so I’ll tell the dishwashers story.  They all make fun of me because I smile too much, because I, apparently, smile an unhealthy amount.  Like, I must radiate creepiness or something.  The next time somebody asks me why I smile so much, I’ll tell them it’s because I’m picturing what their insides would look like, smile, and walk away.  Or tell them it’s because I’m picturing them naked and am trying not to laugh.  Something along those lines. (Only I know the truth….)

So yeah, I get into work, and two of the dishwashers are separating all the dishes and silverware and everything, and they called me over.  One of them turns red and keeps his back to me as though he’s working really hard, and this other talkative one (I don’t know any of their names yet) is all, “We were just wondering—and by ‘we’ I mean all the dishwashers—we were wondering why you smile so much.”

The other one’s still hard at work on those dishes, and I say, “Oh, God,” and the first one says, “No no no, it’s not a bad thing!  I mean, don’t get me wrong, you have a nice smile, but we were just talking about it in the back.”

I just stare at them, and he says, “I wasn’t saying anything bad; that was all them” and suddenly the other one turns around and says, “Hey, I didn’t say anything bad!” and the first one’s like, “Dude, that is bullshit and you know it” and they’re arguing about it, and it’s kind of hard to follow along because I still don’t even know what was said, precisely….

So the second guy says, “No, that was all the other guy!  He’s the one who wanted to know if she’s on drugs or something.”

First guy says, “Whatever dude, you both wanted to know.  Well, Ginny, I’ll be honest with you, we all wanted to know.  But there, now see, I’m being honest, unlike this guy.”

The second guy says, “Okay, I’ll be honest, too.”

There is a pause.  And then the second guy says, “…I didn’t say she was on drugs!”

I’m just standing there staring at the two of them, and the first one says, “You have a nice smile, it’s very pretty, don’t stop smiling…we just wondered why you do it so much.”

The second one finally says, “Okay, so maybe I said you might have been on drugs, but…well, are you?”

“See?  I told you he said so!” said the first one.  “But we weren’t saying anything bad; do you believe us?”

“Yeah, do you believe us?” the second one chimed in.

“I believe you,” I said to the first one, “…but I don’t believe him.”

The second one says, “Oh God, she hates me now!  Thanks a lot, she hates me, she totally does,” and I walked away laughing, so I never heard the end of it.

But then for the rest of the night, the first guy would come up to me and be like, “Hey, smile for me!  Why aren’t you smiling, Susie McSmilesalot?”

The second guy would turn red every time I came near him.

Then the third guy, who, in his absence from that conversation, was accused of having said all the bad things, kept coming up to me for random things….  For example, I’m out washing up on my line, and he comes up to me with a pizza slicer that he’s washed and hands it to me, and studies my face really closely, like he’s waiting to see if I’ll smile (I don’t) instead of just putting the thing in the drawer back in the kitchen, where he had just come from.

For a while I refused to smile at any of them, just to unnerve them.  Hahaha.  But it was amusing the way they were all acting, so finally I just started laughing at them.  Like, the second guy kept acting like he was trying to make up for thinking I was on drugs…he kept trying to say and do things to make me laugh…and of course, the other two.