Customer: Do you have coffee?
Me: Yes…
Customer: Yes?
Me: You can have espresso or brewed coffee. We are a coffee shop.
Customer: Well, you’d be surprised.
Me: Would I?
__________
Customer: Do you have any hazelnut gelato?
Coworker: No, not today.
Customer: Okay. Can I try the crème brulee?
Coworker: Sure.
*Customer takes the sample out to his dog and then comes back into the shop*
Customer: He just really likes hazelnut. I guess we’ll come back later.
Friday, April 10, 2009
In which a woman gets smacked
Part three.
Because Henry’s is a bit fancier than my usual dive, I try to keep my inappropriate noises, my swearing, and my wild arm movements under wraps. I failed with the arm movements, smacking a woman in the face as she walked behind me. Please don’t ask, I was obviously telling a compelling narrative. I think I did okay with the swearing, but truth be told, it’s such a part of me I don’t even realize I’m doing it half the time. (Hell damn fart. Crap boobs crap.) Did someone say something?
Inappropriate noises? At this point there was no need to worry. Even after two beers and a mai tai I hadn’t made a peep. Not even to stifle a burp. No small feat, trust me. I just burped typing that sentence. It’s serendipitous, if you really think about it.
Finally, Allie and I had stalled long enough: I’d spent my allotted amount of money for the evening and I’d bruised my ass. That meant it was time to head over to the aforementioned unnamed bar. We walked back to the car (I would like to point out that I found a parking spot a mere 2 blocks from Henry’s. On a Saturday night. In the Pearl. Please take a moment for a hushed awe), drove down to China Town (again, I found a spot only 2 blocks from unnamed bar. It was parking kismet) and started walking to the bar.
All that moving around must have jostled something loose because just as we passed the Classical Chinese Gardens I belched. Not just a regular burp. Not an “I just drank Pepsi for the first time in weeks” burp. Not an “I just ate an apple too fast” belch. (Don’t tell me you don’t burp after eating apples.) It was a definite winner and I was feeling like I had made room for some more beer. Then someone yelled out “Nice one!” from inside a car half a block away. I turned around and yelled “Thank you! Appreciate it!” “I’d give it a 7!” He yelled back. I curtsied to show my gratitude but then called back "It was at least an 8." It was a lovely interaction and now ranks as the second best thing anyone’s ever yelled at me from a moving car.
What’s the first best thing you ask? It’s a bit of a digression, but because it’s so amazing I’m compelled to share. Plus I’d forgotten all about it until Saturday night.
I was living in Corvallis and it was… 2003… I guess. I was walking through downtown on my way to the post office when it happened. Are you ready?
“If you drop 5 pounds, I’d bone you!” There are so many things wrong with that, I don’t know where to start. My first reaction was to look around and see if anyone else had heard it. Second reaction? To scoff at his use of the term ‘bone.’ Really? Bone? Ugh, I shudder just typing it. Final thought. 5 pounds? That’s all?! I’ll head over to the gym right now and get started, maybe I’ll get some! Of course that was 15 pounds ago, I’m not sure I’d be so lucky now.
Coming up: Crowds give someone gas. And it’s not pretty.
Because Henry’s is a bit fancier than my usual dive, I try to keep my inappropriate noises, my swearing, and my wild arm movements under wraps. I failed with the arm movements, smacking a woman in the face as she walked behind me. Please don’t ask, I was obviously telling a compelling narrative. I think I did okay with the swearing, but truth be told, it’s such a part of me I don’t even realize I’m doing it half the time. (Hell damn fart. Crap boobs crap.) Did someone say something?
Inappropriate noises? At this point there was no need to worry. Even after two beers and a mai tai I hadn’t made a peep. Not even to stifle a burp. No small feat, trust me. I just burped typing that sentence. It’s serendipitous, if you really think about it.
Finally, Allie and I had stalled long enough: I’d spent my allotted amount of money for the evening and I’d bruised my ass. That meant it was time to head over to the aforementioned unnamed bar. We walked back to the car (I would like to point out that I found a parking spot a mere 2 blocks from Henry’s. On a Saturday night. In the Pearl. Please take a moment for a hushed awe), drove down to China Town (again, I found a spot only 2 blocks from unnamed bar. It was parking kismet) and started walking to the bar.
All that moving around must have jostled something loose because just as we passed the Classical Chinese Gardens I belched. Not just a regular burp. Not an “I just drank Pepsi for the first time in weeks” burp. Not an “I just ate an apple too fast” belch. (Don’t tell me you don’t burp after eating apples.) It was a definite winner and I was feeling like I had made room for some more beer. Then someone yelled out “Nice one!” from inside a car half a block away. I turned around and yelled “Thank you! Appreciate it!” “I’d give it a 7!” He yelled back. I curtsied to show my gratitude but then called back "It was at least an 8." It was a lovely interaction and now ranks as the second best thing anyone’s ever yelled at me from a moving car.
What’s the first best thing you ask? It’s a bit of a digression, but because it’s so amazing I’m compelled to share. Plus I’d forgotten all about it until Saturday night.
I was living in Corvallis and it was… 2003… I guess. I was walking through downtown on my way to the post office when it happened. Are you ready?
“If you drop 5 pounds, I’d bone you!” There are so many things wrong with that, I don’t know where to start. My first reaction was to look around and see if anyone else had heard it. Second reaction? To scoff at his use of the term ‘bone.’ Really? Bone? Ugh, I shudder just typing it. Final thought. 5 pounds? That’s all?! I’ll head over to the gym right now and get started, maybe I’ll get some! Of course that was 15 pounds ago, I’m not sure I’d be so lucky now.
Coming up: Crowds give someone gas. And it’s not pretty.
In which the evening takes a turn
Part two.
I promised specifics and to start I can simply focus on the incidents of Saturday night. First up? Dinner at Henry’s Tavern in the Pearl with Allie. We were going out for a friend’s birthday, but they weren’t going to be out until 10. That’s 10 at night. I’m usually in my nachtzeug and glasses by then.
Even when I was in college (the first time) I found it unnecessary to start parties so late. I never really understood that concept. Now that I’m almost 30 it makes even less sense. Not only were we going out past my bedtime, but also heading to a bar with karaoke, ugly people making out, and nowhere to sit. (I’m old and I’m wearing heels! Just give me a freaking bar stool!) So Allie and I decided to have some super happy best friend time first with beer and… more beer at Henry’s.
Side note: Walking Man Black Cherry Stout from Stevenson, Washington just might be the best thing ever.
Of course we all know what happens after a beer or two. I tried to put it off as long as possible but nature won over. I was on my way to the ladies room and took a wrong turn. I could use this to mention I’m not good with directions either. I started walking toward the server station when I realized I couldn’t get through that way so I stopped sharp and promptly fell right on my ass, kicking one of my legs up in front of me in the process.
Because I was wearing my heels (the cute purple ones with no traction) and since I already have issues with balance, I really should have known this wouldn’t end well after booze was added to the equation. Fortunately it was only in front of half the patrons and servers, including ours. I can handle that. I’m used to restaurant employees thinking I’ve had too much because of tripping, falling, and knocking over menu stands… not that that’s ever happened to me…
But it did give me an excuse to slip “ass bruise” into conversation later. Always a plus.
Coming up: Burping in Old Town.
I promised specifics and to start I can simply focus on the incidents of Saturday night. First up? Dinner at Henry’s Tavern in the Pearl with Allie. We were going out for a friend’s birthday, but they weren’t going to be out until 10. That’s 10 at night. I’m usually in my nachtzeug and glasses by then.
Even when I was in college (the first time) I found it unnecessary to start parties so late. I never really understood that concept. Now that I’m almost 30 it makes even less sense. Not only were we going out past my bedtime, but also heading to a bar with karaoke, ugly people making out, and nowhere to sit. (I’m old and I’m wearing heels! Just give me a freaking bar stool!) So Allie and I decided to have some super happy best friend time first with beer and… more beer at Henry’s.
Side note: Walking Man Black Cherry Stout from Stevenson, Washington just might be the best thing ever.
Of course we all know what happens after a beer or two. I tried to put it off as long as possible but nature won over. I was on my way to the ladies room and took a wrong turn. I could use this to mention I’m not good with directions either. I started walking toward the server station when I realized I couldn’t get through that way so I stopped sharp and promptly fell right on my ass, kicking one of my legs up in front of me in the process.
Because I was wearing my heels (the cute purple ones with no traction) and since I already have issues with balance, I really should have known this wouldn’t end well after booze was added to the equation. Fortunately it was only in front of half the patrons and servers, including ours. I can handle that. I’m used to restaurant employees thinking I’ve had too much because of tripping, falling, and knocking over menu stands… not that that’s ever happened to me…
But it did give me an excuse to slip “ass bruise” into conversation later. Always a plus.
Coming up: Burping in Old Town.
In which NJ goes out in public
Part one.
There are quite a few reasons I don’t go out often. One could even say myriad reasons. But I won’t. I don’t want to sound pretentious. The problem used to be that I worked too much. I’d be at two jobs 60 hours a week or more and not have the energy to do anything else when my shifts were over. And all that working made me angry and bitter. Even more so than usual. And who wants to hang out with that? Then I quit one of those jobs and went back to school. So now I have work AND school as an excuse. The best part? I can use the "I'm a poor student" cop-out and it works every time.
I have been able to be out and about this past week (Spring Break ’09!) and hang out with people I actually like on the cheap. On Monday I hung out with my brother who’s home from school and watched the Blazer game at my favorite bar.
Side note: I’ve decided the Blazers lose whenever I watch the game, so I’m going to steer clear the rest of the season. (Except on Tuesday because I’ll actually be AT the game.) Once the regular season is done and if and when we get into the playoffs, that jinx is over and I'll watch every game.
Wednesday I got to see an old friend home for the week from NYC (hi Zack!) and Thursday was a fabulous night full of Star Wars, Deschutes Brown Ale, and boys way nerdier than me. But all of these nights out were in my comfort zone. Monday - George’s. The bartenders know my name and my drink. Wednesday - Lucky Lab. Lots of space not many people. Thursday - Chris’s house. Only people I know and feel comfortable around. Don’t get me wrong, I blend in with the normies well enough to avoid suspicion.
Occasionally I’m accidentally mean and more often than not I make a reference no one gets. But I’m okay with that, I’m over being embarrassed. I just feel bad for the people around me; they (usually) don’t deserve it.
I’m forgetful and klutzy. I say inappropriate things and make inappropriate noises. I hate small talk and stupid people, and more specifically small talk WITH stupid people. These are the general reasons home is safe and the outside world is scary.
Coming up: The specifics.
There are quite a few reasons I don’t go out often. One could even say myriad reasons. But I won’t. I don’t want to sound pretentious. The problem used to be that I worked too much. I’d be at two jobs 60 hours a week or more and not have the energy to do anything else when my shifts were over. And all that working made me angry and bitter. Even more so than usual. And who wants to hang out with that? Then I quit one of those jobs and went back to school. So now I have work AND school as an excuse. The best part? I can use the "I'm a poor student" cop-out and it works every time.
I have been able to be out and about this past week (Spring Break ’09!) and hang out with people I actually like on the cheap. On Monday I hung out with my brother who’s home from school and watched the Blazer game at my favorite bar.
Side note: I’ve decided the Blazers lose whenever I watch the game, so I’m going to steer clear the rest of the season. (Except on Tuesday because I’ll actually be AT the game.) Once the regular season is done and if and when we get into the playoffs, that jinx is over and I'll watch every game.
Wednesday I got to see an old friend home for the week from NYC (hi Zack!) and Thursday was a fabulous night full of Star Wars, Deschutes Brown Ale, and boys way nerdier than me. But all of these nights out were in my comfort zone. Monday - George’s. The bartenders know my name and my drink. Wednesday - Lucky Lab. Lots of space not many people. Thursday - Chris’s house. Only people I know and feel comfortable around. Don’t get me wrong, I blend in with the normies well enough to avoid suspicion.
Occasionally I’m accidentally mean and more often than not I make a reference no one gets. But I’m okay with that, I’m over being embarrassed. I just feel bad for the people around me; they (usually) don’t deserve it.
I’m forgetful and klutzy. I say inappropriate things and make inappropriate noises. I hate small talk and stupid people, and more specifically small talk WITH stupid people. These are the general reasons home is safe and the outside world is scary.
Coming up: The specifics.
My jacket sleeve bio
One of the last assignments for my fiction class (it's almost over!) is to write a 50 word bio for my hypothetical book.
This is what I came up with:
"Nicole was born in Orange County, California, but after living in Portland for 20 years considers herself a true Oregonian. Reading, writing, and photography are her passions, but she will probably never turn off the TV. She loves sarcasm and hates clowns."
This is what I came up with:
"Nicole was born in Orange County, California, but after living in Portland for 20 years considers herself a true Oregonian. Reading, writing, and photography are her passions, but she will probably never turn off the TV. She loves sarcasm and hates clowns."
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