PickledCherub

Working at a restaurant is kind of like being part of a family. For example, when something bad happens, everybody agrees not to talk about it. The old dishwasher got canned, because, well, he kind of stopped showing up and sometimes came into work in a way he shouldn't have. But now we have a new dishwasher, Alejandro, who is, surprise surprise, Mexican. He also has put all other dishwashers to shame. He is fast, efficient, and sparkling good at this job. He knows a little more English than I know Spanish, and we communicate alright. I did some of his mopping for him tonight because we closed early (it was dead), and he was all, "Amy, I do it." And I was all, "I help you, you help me, we can leave early." I feel guilty about not knowing Spanish. I feel like I should, living in America. Knowing French doesn't help much, because most people who know French can speak English, too. And I'm always embarassed to speak Japanese, mainly because I would know how to order food, but not how to serve it without being offensive. Japanese is tricky, because you could say "Here's your food you gutter-slum" and not even know it.

Last night was awesome, because I saw Y.A.C.H.T. and Bobby Birdman at the States Rights Records show. I had a lot of fun, and Bobby Birdman's act was amazing. He has a voice comparable to Frank Sinatra or Mel Torme, but somehow better, smoother. He was all singing these songs that I'd call ballads, maybe even jazz-standards, over a synth thing on his iTunes. He was great at getting the audience involved, having us clapping and stomping and singing and going up onstage and dancing. Jona's act was the best I've seen yet. He did this five minute improv about being on the Aztec desert island and drinking sand. I had no idea what he was talking about for a long time, and then I looked at the projection screen behind him and was all "Oh." He has a ton of stage presence and is good.

I'm sorry about not being as vigilant about this blog-thing. Dinner was good.