I have learned today that I will never be a good waitress.  I lack the patience and the ability to put on a proper guise of cheerfulness and gratitude to serve other people that don’t particularly matter to me.  It could be that working in my family’s restuarant I don’t physically see the money that we earn at the end of the day, thus, I have even less incentive to be fake.  This weekend we have 201 people (so they say, there are probably more) and our normal maximum capacity is around 80 and if ambitious, 100.  There are so many people that if I were to serve a drink, I would find myself sandwiched and wriggling between guests that are attacking the buffet table.  Rather than explode in front of our customers and make people lose teeth and have broken noses, I extracted myself from the situation to fume by myself in a straight jacket.  I truly cannot be a waitress in the future.  I’d bring any establishment down due to deadly customer service.

When Michael (9 yr old brother) gets fractious I often tell lies that will distract him from his source of angst.  They aren’t harmful lies, I don’t think.  Well, on with the story… while on a walk down our very direct strip of road, Michael continued to play with a little Doraemon, which I broke…

Well, Michael was not all too pleased about it and huffed and puffed.  I then told him a story about how once when he was about 1 years old I almost fed him to the polar bears.  The following conversation took place (as best of my recollection):

Michael: But, we were never in the north pole!

Me: Of course not, I meant the zoo, there are polar bears there too.

Michael: Oh

Me: The sign said, “Feed babies to the polar bears”

Michael: No!  It probably said “Making babies”

Me: (aghast) MICHAEL!

Michael: No! No! The sign probably said that the polar bears are about to “have Babies”

Me: (rolling on the floor laughing = ROFL –> I had to look this up)

* Sigh * All in all, I think my brother is really funny.  He had no idea what he was talking about and I shall be careful from now on when speaking of polar bears and babies together in the same conversation.

Peonies are by far my favorite flowers: perfect, elegant, oxygen-giving, noble, intriguing, ethereal, and sweet.

It falls irregular, suddenly great and quickly withers,

only to return again with greater force.

The air must be warm but not suffocating,

a gentle gust present to slant the falling drops.

The day’s schedule is full of nonsensical things,

so the teasing shower doesn’t interfere.

Most pleasantly, the sun still shows its face now and then,

the dark clouds and he simply pass each other by.

This favorite kind of rain is like a sweet kiss hello,

an embrace from a dear old friend.

(Picture by BEA from deviantart.com)

A long time ago, before my youngest brother, Michael (he’s now 9, so you can imagine), was born, and before banks grew negligent of its patrons’ children, my younger sister, my other younger brother and I always clamored to go to the bank whenever my father had to deposit a check.  I recalled our past behavior when I recently paid a visit to our old hometown bank.

As we made our way through the convenient drive-thru window, I remembered how as the bank teller, usually a smiling lady wearing poofy bangs 80s-style and heavily caked eyelids and ruby red lipstick, was about to slip in the receipt for the deposited check, all three of us would press our faces against the left-side window of our minivan.  If I was in the backseat I would pile on top of my sister and brother so that we would look like a three headed totem-pole.  What for?  In hopes of getting a lollipop of course.  Even with the tinted windows, we always put on our most winsome smiles and puppy-dog eyes so that she might pity our otherwise fate of returning home to sugarless cabinets.  The three of us would inwardly cheer to ourselves when she would ask our father, “Would the children like some candy?”  Our next battle was to crowd around the drivers seat and tug on our father’s shirt until he gave in.  I believe once, when he turned down the candy lady’s offer we protested so vehemently that rather than be embarrassed any further he rescinded his earlier answer and we  were granted our one happy wish of the moment.

When we went through the same drive-thru and saw a similar bank teller who now had flattened her bangs 90s-style, I refrained from plastering my face to the window.  I suppose it was a combination of reasons, foremost being that I was no longer a child who could coax adults to responding to my whims, and I would probably think that the lollipop tasted artificial as an ‘adult’ now – I think my tastebuds havebeen slightly refined over the years.  But the most obvious reason is that the bank no longer gives out lollipops.  Maybe they are low on making-children-happy funds or maybe they received complaints from parents about cavities or maybe they self-banned candy in favor of championing a mini-campaign against our country’s obesity epidemic.

All in all, it made me quite happy to mull over these thoughts and I laughed out loud while doing so.

Funny (yet depressing) conversation I had with my brothers in the car today:

Michael (9-yr-old): Jeanne, when are you going to get a job?

Me (just graduated): Never, I’m going to take care of you and James. Does that sound good?

Michael: Yea, okay…but isn’t that illegal? Not getting a job?

Me : * stunned *

James (17-yr old): No, it’s not illegal, but it’s doing your country a great disservice.