being a waitress

is hard on the feet. tell me something obvious, i know. but our "uniform" of black on black also requires us to wear chucks, and running around, busing dishes, bringing another round of drinks, so forth and so on, has officially made me name my chucks something else that rhymes with chucks but starts with an F.

I am a waitress. I am. I get tips and everything. I served my first vip dinner party today and although I still made mistakes and ran into other waitresses in the kitchen... I feel pretty darn confident. I am ALMOST ready to kill the fires that flare up from all that greasy sam gyup sal fat dripping from the grills... and till then, I gladly sacrifice my feet.

I am one of those people who always tipped as close to 15% as possible without going any higher. Irony. Now, I smile big when I carry around stacks of one dollar bills... or am able to not go to the atm machine. and while it's still taboo to spend any money on anything else besides food... I am "forced" to shop for a sexy black dress to serve as a cocktail waitress... and excuse to shop AND to be sexy. Life could be harder. (although admittedly, I don't do sexy well).


I've actually been busy. I don't know if I am consciously trying to take on as many shifts as I possibly can so I can prevent myself from every thinking about stupid things ever again... but I've been so busy that I am not even caught up on my Korean dramas. That is just strange. Being busy though, as helped lift my spirits. Trying to juggle in lunch shifts, SAT courses, dinner shifts, and finding time to catch up with friends in between... it finally gives me an excuse not to find time to drink beer during the day... or push off going to the gym... or doubt myself.

I don't want to ever doubt myself again. Not with people. Not with family. Not with future.

So, until those tip dollars can pay for my acting class, here to those *F*Chucks.