Yeah I wrote the poem a couple months ago. You will get better at your job. And honestly, I think its good for the mind to work at a busy restaurant. It trains your memory, and you learn how to deal with people in a whole new way. I find myself even in the hardest situations now being like “well this is actually easy compared to what it was like on sunday morning at queenie’s”. But, seriously, you will get better, and everybody understands how hard it is and how much it sucks to start out at a diner.
Last night I went to dinner with the head editor of Vanity Fair. I invited myself along. It was the wackest. Though he did order profuse amounts of wine and told us to get whatever we wanted, “It’s on Vanity Fair”. He was sort of a dickwipe though. Really pretensious and obnoxious. And his assistant and his assistant’s girlfriend were even worse. It was yet another rude awakening.
You are coming for Black Keys? Tight. I might be able to come next weekend, though I feel like there was some reason why I couldn’t. I am getting my uterus scraped next week. I am really not looking forward to that.
My sister also called me from her work yesterday (she works at a children’s art camp) and she was sooo fucked up. She said the counselor she is working as an assistant of keeps handing her muscle tranquilizers and zanax.