As if my surprise dinner shift wasn’t enough, I also had a surprise lunch shift thrust upon me. Lunch? Really? I had yet to see the menu and didn’t know thing one about lunchtime operations. Upon my arrival I was made aware of my partner, a new employee that needed training, by me. Well, I can do the in-house stuff and show him the ropes of where things are and how we go about our daily business. I told him not to ask me any menu questions; we are in that one together. So we went on at our day, I briefed him on the glass pours and some finer points of how we do things here when another server walked in. It was a bit before noon and at last I saw, we had 6 people coming in….all day. I was a bit miffed at the fact that there were now 2.5 servers and 1 bus boy plus the bartender. Well that should cover the 6 people, one for each of us. Needless to say I was released early.

I planned on making vegetable lasagna for dinner and I had to finish Chi Chi’s dress for the Grabby Awards Saturday night. On the way home I had this amazing idea for a shirt to make. Before my masterpiece could be started there was much work needed in the kitchen. I had to prep the squash, broccoli and ricotta plus brown some Vegan sausage. I layered it all down and it was oven ready for dinner at six.

I then ran upstairs and began to cut and measure the material to be used for my shirt. I had everything going picture perfect until the last stitch. The needle broke. I had no idea how to replace it, even if I had a spare. It was fine, I had finished coincidentally and was happy not to be defeated by this unfortunate event. When I went to put the shirt on, I noticed something amiss. I had sewn the collar piece on the wrong side of the shirt! I had no needle and now a backwards shirt.

Luckily Sarah had a spare needle in her machine that fit mine. At last I had finished both outfits for the ceremony. Oh my god! That’s right, an award show! I had completely forgotten in my excitement and stress surrounding the sale of my shirts. I am nominated for all the same awards that I was nominated for in LA. Honestly I couldn’t care less. I feel that I have won and the point was clear. Besides, I have no room for them in my luggage. I wonder if François will be there? I will take that fantasy to bed now and hope it carries over to my dreams.

A couple of hours after I left that audio blog from the Mass Pike, I went to Aquitaine to attend our weekly wine tasting. It’s always at 3:30, so I arrived at a little past three to meet the new purveyor and just make a good impression in general. We tasted some really good stuff from a woman I vaguely remember from last summer named Donna. She is barely 5’5” with short brown hair and glasses. She is exactly as you probably think; quiet spoken, reserved, doesn’t make that big of an impression on you, but knows and loves the wine. She brought with her a kick-ass Rhone from Vacqueyras, a Russian River Pinot, a below average domestic Sauvignon Blanc and a really good French, environmentally correct, all-organic Pinot Blanc.

The Vacqueyras was coincidentally the same bottle Mom and I had with dinner, the one I couldn’t remember – it was awesome. My pal and I had hid the remaining Pinot Blanc and finished it off after the tasting. Then I felt like going for a couple of beers. Just then a new girl, Nikki came up to me and said “Oh, this is our first night working together, I have heard so many good things about you”. Huh? Working? Tonight? Shit!

I was in my vintage brown cowboy boots; I hadn’t shaved and had a camo T on. I looked great, but I was not exactly up to Aquitaine standards. “Well, I just can’t be here” I said, pointing to my boots and stroking my beard. “I don’t have my shirt, shoes or my pants even, it’s not going to happen”.

Three minutes later I was downstairs with my smuggling companion looking through the staff closet for something that would fit me. I found her pants and a shirt and went upstairs, still in my boots to show that I was lacking proper footwear. Don then slid one of his shoes for me to try on. He lives across the street and was off that night, proper footwear was of no concern to him. As soon as I saw the way the shoe slid on the floor like a toboggan down a slope I knew that they were soooooo not kitchen friendly. A wooden soled shoe is what Don proposed I wait tables in, not to mention that the shoe itself was 2 sizes too big for me and made me look like a Keebler Elf with its pointed and tapered toe.

Just then when I thought I was going to be excused from covering from his mistake, Saya, my now exhausted pal arrived with black clogs she discovered underneath some table cloths. They fit. Modestly. Now only one rather obvious problem remained. I had white socks on and Saya’s pants came halfway up my Achilles tendon. Hot! Don ran home and fetched me some black socks to hide the fact that my pants were clam diggers.

I managed. Quite well. I sold well, got out at a decent time and made some decent money. I ran around that place like I had never left. I knew how long the sides took without a cue. I knew how to get through the double doors using my feet when all hands were full, and I did it in somebody else’s clothes with an inseam so far up my crotch that my Hazzardous material had been separated into east and west regions. Other than that it was like riding a bike. Seamless, every pun intended!