41. James’ll Do Anything for a Laugh

I am an awful procrastinator. Maybe the worst.

So I failed a test this morning. I’m taking the test again next week. But what should I do so I don’t fail again? Study!

So I sat on a chair in the park for a while pretending to study. No one was fooled. I heard passerby’s whisper, “Hey, look at that weirdo fake-studying. Also, why is he wearing so many colors?” So I had to get out of there. I walked to the train. On the way to the train, I got behind the two slowest women in the whole world. They were walking so slow that one of them might as well have just been rolling the other down the sidewalk. They were also those people who just take up the whole sidewalk. Not because of their size, but because of the way they mosey down the way. So instead of doing anything about it (like walking around them) I decided to just walk behind them at the snail’s pace to see if I was missing anything. (Note: I wasn’t missing anything.)

I finally got to the train. I pretended to study for a little bit but this little baby knew I was faking it. She looked right through me. And she kept staring. So I stared back. That happened for like 25 minutes. Then I got arrested for looking at a baby with cannibal eyes.

Just kidding. But I was super hungry.

Then I started to walk to the library. But this man spilled his cart full of bottles. So I started helping him collect the bottles. Then my headphones fell and wrapped themselves around my ankle. So I started dragging that leg behind me. I think the man thought I was mocking him. So he knocked me unconscious with a plastic bottle and walked away. I woke up with my pants around my ankles and all of my credit cards in my mouth. At first, I was sad that I had been unconscious for the whole thing, and then I was enlightened because I think the man was trying to make a statement about capitalism when he shoved my two credits cards, my debit card and my countless gift cards in my mouth. So I stood up, put my shorts in my backpack and walked home with my natty jiblets glistening in the sun.

(Ok. The last part was true until the point where he did NOT hit me in the head with a bottle.)

So I walked to the library where I picked up a lot of CDs and prayed that the librarian wouldn’t ask me to pay my fine. She didn’t, but I was nervous there were coins in my pocket so I decided to walk out of the library without bending my knees. I looked like a penguin. Or Charlie Chaplin. (Who really came first? It’s like the chicken and the egg, really.)

Then I went to the post office. There was just one attendant and this man at the window was taking the longest time. I got so hungry that I started to eat scratch paper from my backpack. A long line started to form behind me. One of the people behind me suddenly exclaimed, “There’s only one person working!”… Eureka! That must be it! I finally got to buy stamps, and then I went home.

Then I talked to my friend Sasha on the phone for a long time while I ate too much dairy and started to feel ill.

Then I spent about an hour to two hours creating a video of me acting a god damn fool. Here’s a link to it:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vuosZbX5j9Q

So after I swiveled my head around so violently, I really didn’t feel well. So I drank the rest of my water and I took of my shoes. Then I got a whiff of my feet and I felt even worse! So I tried to pretend to study some more. I was using my phone to study but then I saw that my battery was dying and I realized I had a killer headache. I’m secretly convinced that when my phone is dying, it starts to give me brain cancer. The logical solution to this illogical problem would be to plug in my phone. Instead, I decide to just not look at it. Yeah… That’ll work!

So now I can’t study anymore. Darn it. So I decide to run my hands through my hair for a little bit. I became alarmed by how much hair was falling out. I held a funeral for the collected lost hair from my head. Then I started thinking about what color wigs I should wear when I go bald.

Then I decided to write a blog. And here’s the reason why:

While most of this blog was SUPER funny, I was actually mad frustrated today. Bitchlets be walking slow on the sidewalk in front of me. I disappointed myself by failing that test HARD. I’m mad at myself for not studying right now. And then I started making a list of all the things I’m mad at myself for. And girls, that list gets LONG. I could scribble the reasons on every inch of my skin and all over these painted walls and I could write the reasons all the way down to the damned skreet. And then I realized why I come back to this blog:

I’m sad. I don’t know where She comes from or who let the Twat in. I’m feeling kind of ill from the milk. I’m feeling kind of sleepy; maybe I didn’t sleep enough. I started crying hard a few moments ago. Perhaps there’s something deep inside me needing mending. Perhaps I have a lack of self-confidence. But this blog always brings me back. And I associate my blog with happy times, because I was the most successful at practicing joy when I was writing my Project Happiness 365. I don’t know what it is about blogging. Maybe I look for validation. Maybe I think, ‘If I can make someone laugh today, I will be worthwhile.’ Or, ‘If someone says my blog is good, then today I will hate myself just a little bit less.’ I always know when I’m looking for validation. I think that’s the curse that comes with being self-aware. Like when I turn on my OkCupid just “to see pretty people”. James. Let’s be real. You just want someone to tell you you’re pretty so then you can feel worthwhile for a few more seconds. That makes me turn off my OkCupid REAL queck.

Mental health is a real problem that I struggle with. Daily. Some days are better than others. You can probably guess what kind of day this one is. But the one thing that is constant is I feel like there’s a boxing match going on in my head.

And I better win, god damnit.

Postgraduate Center for Mental Health
http://www.pgcmh.org/index.html

Metropolitan Center for Mental Health
http://www.metropolitancenter.com/about/

The Institute for Contemporary Psychotherapy
http://www.icpnyc.org/

All have sliding scales for people without health insurance. Just in case you’re in NYC and looking for some mental health counseling but you’re too ashamed to google it.

I’m calling tomorrow.

My friends are awesome. They can make me laugh. They can make me feel pretty. They can distract me. But at the end of the day, it’s me, my pillow and that sinking feeling of my chest. And I’m sick of letting it run my life. In the altered words of Beyonce, “Who run this mother?! [JAMES!!!!!]”

It’s OK to be selfish sometimes. Especially if you’re feeling unhinged. Do the things you need to do to get back to you. People might get mad but they’ll understand.

Don’tgiveup Don’tgiveup Don’tgiveup Don’tgiveup

James.

(Know how to accept help, please.)

38. James Waits Tables and Flashes Nipple

Y’all. I haven’t flashed a nipple….yet. BUT I WOULD. Cuz I work hard for the money.

So let me just rewind a little bit.

I haven’t blogged in awhile. And I’ve been feeling super lost lately. But tonight, I helped this young lady carry her two heavy suitcases up two flights of stairs today and I thought, ‘This is me.’ So I’m trying to get back to me. I’m gonna start blogging every day again. Perhaps this blog project will end when I am successful artistically. Until then, I will be blogging about my life and my trials and tribulations, Jesus, until I get there. So what I’m trying to say is: this blog may be a little rickety. Like a dick pulled out of a dirty butthole, I’m a little rusty. So please bear with me.

Back to the hot mess that is my life:

I’m not telling you what restaurant I work at. But I will tell you it is in New York City. It is near Times Square. We get lots of tourists. We get lots of foreigners who pretend to not be able to read and pretend to not know about tipping.

Ok. So. If you’ve never waited tables, you better THANK GOD. But. You also be a nice fucking person. Because if you HAVE waited tables, then you have dealt with the rudest of bitches, and you know how awful people can be. You know that people can make you feel like less than a person. If you’ve waited tables ever, this is me giving you a long-distance hug. Or a long-distance blow-job. Whatever would be more comforting for you. If you plan on waiting tables in NYC: this is the blog for you. If you never plan on waiting tables but you constantly hear how waiting tables helps you be a more appreciate person: this is the blog for you.

First: tips for people who want to make tips.

1) When there is a party of at least 6: ADD THE FUCKING GRATUITY. For most restaurants, when there is a party of 6 or more, you can add gratuity to the bill automatically. I say: ADD IT. I don’t care if you think the table is gonna tip you more than the automatic gratuity (also known as “auto-grat”). ADD IT. Cuz I have been fucked (in the bad way) by tables that I trusted. You’re not waiting tables to make friends; it’s business. So be a good businessperson. And make dat paper. You gotta take care of you. Add the grat.
2) Don’t take it too seriously. It’s just food. And your table is just a table of crabby bitches that you’ll never see again. Don’t run. Don’t pull a James and cry in the kitchen when you can’t find clean glassware. Take a deep breath, find the object that most resembles a cup, and deliver it to your table with the sexiest, toothiest smile you’ve got, baby. It’s just a job. And if you get fired, you’ll just get another one that makes you less suicidal.
3) Be nice. To everyone. The nicer you are to the bartender, the faster your drinks get made. The nicer you are to the food runners, the faster your food gets delivered. The nicer you are to the busser, the cleaner your tables are. The nicer you are to the host, the better your section is maintained. The nicer you are to the manager, the more accommodating they are to your fucked-up schedule. The nicer you are to your table, THE MORE YOU CAN MAKE IT RAIN AT THE END OF THE NIGHT. It’s money.
4) Do what it takes to make that paper. Flirt. Just flirt. I don’t care how nasty your table is. I get foul people all the time. And they flirt. But girl, it’s MONEYSSSSSSS. No, I don’t want to suck your dick. I don’t even want to smell it. But I will pretend that I do because I know you’re gonna leave me a bigger tip. Do what it takes y’all. It’s business. Waiting tables can be soul-sucking. But you can also make really good money. Is it worth it? It’s up to you. But in the meantime  put your dignity in a box and play the game. And pull out a nipple. Or a ball. Whatever makes your table wet.
5) Make your table feel special. Try to accommodate their special requests. And when you do, make it know that you went out of your way. Say something like, “I’m not supposed to do this but…. here you go.” Or, “Don’t tell on me! Sh!” They love it. They love feeling special. And they might even leave you a few extra dollars.
6) Look pretty. It may not be right. But it’s business.
7) Ask for help. If you are slammed, ask another server for help. My manager’s have helped me before when I have suddenly exclaimed, “I’M DROWNING,” in the middle of a brunch shift. Ask the host not to seat you until you catch up and get out of the weeds.
8) Don’t steal from the tip pool. You may think it’s your money. But you’re fucking over everyone else. Cuz you may be keeping “your money” but you’re still getting all the money that the other servers are bringing in. You’re stealing from their pockets.

Alright. Here are a few pointers for people who go to restaurants:

1) Tip, god damnit. Your server is literally living off your tips. In NYC, the minimum wage for a server is $5/hr. I can’t live off that. You are literally paying their rent. Maybe it’s not fair, but that’s the way it is. And when you don’t tip your server, you’re basically fucking them over. They basically just worked for you for free. And that’s not fair.
2) Here are a list of things that aren’t your server’s fault:
Your drink took too long to make
Your food is cold
You food has a hair in it
Your server has too many tables and doesn’t have enough time for you
There is no more champagne
There are no clean forks
You can’t take boxes home at an All You Can Eat
Your drink isn’t strong enough
Your food is taking too long
You don’t like how your food tastes
It’s not happy hour
Alright. Understood? So. If these are one of the reasons that you don’t tip your server, that’s wrong. Because unless your server sucked, there’s no reason for you to not tip.

3) Be a nice fucking person. Because I can shit in your food. And it’ll still taste delicious. Maybe you had a bad dinner experience. But I’ve been dealing with buttheads like you for 6 hours. So pull it together for like 30 minutes and be nice.
4) Don’t rip up your napkin into a million pieces and then leave it on the table. What the hell y’all? Literally. What the hell. It’s a mess. And I don’t have time to clean up after your strange obsession with shredding your soiled napkin into a million fluttery pieces. Just don’t do it. And if you do do it, clean it up. Eat it. I don’t care. At least you’ll shit it into a toilet in one confined mess.
5) Don’t grab your server. They will turn into the Hulk. Or they will move slower. Either way, you won’t like it…
6) Educate your friends about tipping . I was hanging out with a girl from France and she was about to leave the crappiest tip. I told her that 20% was appropriate. Her response: “TWENTY PERCENT?!?!?!?!?” Yes. Yes. So I’m glad I saved her server that day. TWENTY. If you’re eating in NYC: TWENTY. FUCKING. PERCENT. 15%??? Ok. Remember this: after you tip me, I have to share that money with the bartender, the food runner and the busser. So if you tip me 15%, you’re actually leaving me much, much less. TWENTY. Say it with me: TWEEENTTTTYYYYY. Because lately, I’ve been making about $13/hr waiting tables. That’s ridiculous for a server. Caterers make $20/hr and they don’t do ANYTHING. I should be making $30/hr AT LEAST. So. Pull it together. If you can’t afford twenty percent, don’t go out to eat. I’m sorry, it may hurt your feelings. But it’s business. And if you can’t afford to pay me for my services, go to McDonald’s. Boom. I said it. Drown your sorrows in a McFlurry. You may shit yourself on the way home, but at least you didn’t fuck me.

Alright. I hope you learned a lot. I hope you were touched by this. And if you weren’t, go touch yourself. I hope you giggled. I hope you farted. I hope you’re currently farting.

Fart away, you weird bitches.

#DONTGIVEUP

James