Saturday, June 25, 2011


So, I'm a little too burnt out to write at the moment. It's Saturday night, and I just got in from working a double shift. Sometimes work provides funny anecdotes or tales about people who do ridiculous things, but today went pretty smoothly-- no exciting drama to report. Sorry, memory lane time.
 The restaurant I worked in tonight is situated on a hill above a river. Back in elementary school, my friend Andrea and I would swim down at that spot. We'd ask my mom to bring us there when she worked, so that we could spend the afternoon exploring the rocks, and snacking on french fries when we grew tired.
There's a large patio, part of the restaurant, where customers sit (often to the chagrin of the waitstaff, who don't like carrying heavy pounds of dishes, topped off with odoriferous sauces and meats down a flight of stairs). Andrea and I figured that if we were to scream for help, it might frighten the diners. So instead, we developed a code-word that we would call to one another when we drifted too far. (Plums was the key word, for no reason that I can recall) One time I lost my footing and yelled plums frantically as I was swept downstream, toward piles and piles of rocks. Andrea handed me a huge branch and saved me from my grim, watery fate.
 Most of our childhood adventures turned out that way; we never had an adventure that lacked a code-word, a cry of help, and some sort of dramatic, epic reunion after a near-death experience. My shifts tonight were not quite like the delightful memories of my youth, although they happened within 30 yards of one another. Instead of code-words, I have a time-key code. Cries of help often mean that I've dropped something (usually glassware) And dramatic epic, reunions are what I have with my bed when I get home, especially after an 11 work day.

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