Specious Lesbo and the Seahorse She Rode In On...

I had my first shift at the restaurant this evening...training anyway. The entire time I had Louis XIV stuck in my head...not a complete song, of course, but just that distinguishing guitar riff and the lyrics, "Hey chocolate girl, well, you're looking like somethin' I want...and your little Asian friend, well, she can come if she wants..."....because I figured I'd better start learning how to objectify women...since I'll be working in a kitchen and all.

It really wasn't half bad...it would be better if I were working my ass off for tips instead of a hourly wage, but I'll take whatever I can get. I'm actually kinda interested in finding out how long it'll take me to learn to work this kind of job. Hopefully I won't have too many profanities screamed at me in the process...and, as of right now, my brain is mush from all the intense concentration I put into learning...stupid learning...and the following is about all I can get out....

So....now I present to you, a combination of my complaints and self-doubts:

1. My feet hurt. 2. I have no idea how they expect me to be a sauté "chef" when I have absolutely NO experience doing this kind of shit...especially not with seafood! 3. I smoked a cigarette and it felt great...and now I feel like a failure. 4. I'm going to kill someone by serving undercooked shellfish.

Oh, and there's plenty more...believe me. But I also want to give a break down of a conversation that I had while training this evening...and this blog entry needs to end sometime...so here it is:

Ozzy* (you really have to read this with the accent in mind...just think of Good Will Hunting and the "whicked smaat" kinda talk): So, here's an order for Drunken Clams...just pour some Guniess on them and cover em' up.

Me: Ok. About how long does it take for them to cook?

Ozzy: Oh, I don't know...a while. Til' they're done.

Me: Ok...how do you know when they're done?

Ozzy: When the shells are opened up...that's when they're done. You've never cooked clams before?

Me: Um, no...I'm not even sure that I've eaten clams like this before.

Ozzy: Really...what nationality are you?

Me: Polish....I guess. Why? Did you see my last name or something?

Ozzy: No...I was just trying to figure out where your accent was from.

So, apparently I'm not only a complete retard for not knowing how to cook clams, but I also sound so bizarre to him that I might not even be from this country. I mean, I know it's pretty obvious from the way I speak that I'm not from around these parts, but I don't even think I have a Texas accent...I come from such a mongreled American culture background that I wouldn't even be able to guess what I sound like...or what I should sound like. But, I'm pretty sure that I sound American...and I'm also pretty sure that there's lot's of people out there that don't know how to cook clams! I guess just not in this town....

He's a nice guy though...I have nothing against him and he did a good job training me. And, I'm going to do my best to get Annie Lennox's "No More 'I love you's'" stuck in my head for tomorrow's shift. That way when the flames from the gas burners engulf the scallops, I'll have a more dramatic mental soundtrack to follow the ACTION! Maybe I'll even sing it out loud...