A tale of two Garths. Chapter 44. “I’m sorry…but I’m not the manager you’re looking for.”

The days drug on and on in what seemed like an endless sea of work and movie, work and movie, work and movie. I was getting seriously burnt out.

“I have another audition for you,” my manager told me over the phone. Please let this be the one.

“It’s for a movie called Black Scorpion. You’re trying out for the lead role. She’s a super hero. I’ve got a good feeling about this one,” she told me.

Super hero huh? This is SO up my alley! So I did what any good actress would do: I went out and bought a pair of knee high patent leather boots that I couldn’t afford. Come on, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity here.

Two days later I got myself ready to drive down to Westwood for the audition. I slicked my hair back, smoothed on some smoky eye shadow, and squeezed into the tiniest black tank top I could find. Broke out a very short black skirt, and topped it all off with the Pièce de résistance, the new black boots. I looked in the mirror and was feeling so fly. Damn I’m fine! I even felt like a super hero.

I somehow managed to weasel my car keys away from Garth so I could at least ride in an air-conditioned automobile. How I was able to accomplish this?  I have no idea. Maybe he thought I was taking it out to get it washed for him. Either way, it was I who had the keys to the hot red Pontiac Firebird. It was I who looked like I had just walked out of a Robert Palmer music video. It was I who was going to have to face it – I was addicted to love.

I parked the “Red Rocket,” and proceeded to strut my super hero ass down the street. I was feeling on top of the world and the catcalls just added to my arrogance. I was hot. I was dangerous. I was Black Scorpion. And I was not alone. I opened the door to the audition to find that every other actress at the audition must have gotten the same memo about how a super hero dresses because they all basically had on the exact same outfit. Right down to the over-priced black boots. I see I’m not the only one addicted to love. My heart dropped. And that’s when my bitchy defense kicked in. I started to physically pick apart each and every one of them to make myself feel better. She has really nice legs…but I have way better hair. Oh that one in the corner is cute…if you’re into girls that look like they’ve been ridden hard and put away wet. 

But then someone managed to trump even my bitchiness. She had long dark brown hair and a really nice body. All in all she was pretty damn gorgeous. Well, Miss Gorgeous did something I’ve never seen happen before in an audition; she proceeded to strut repeatedly back and forth in front of all of us. I think one sway of her hips put at least three girls in comas and I know of one who has never regained her ability to speak. That bitch is NOT strutting in front of us. Tell me I’m imagining this, but sure enough she just kept on doing it. This, my friends, is a tactic that the United States Military is now using to fight the war on terror. Water boarding is a myth; this bitch is for real! Stacy, do not let her psych you out. I even tried my Buddhist chant: Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, Nam-myoho-renge-kyo. But it didn’t work. All I could think about was how I wanted to sign this bitch up for the Godiva Chocolate Of The Month Program.  I’m sure the other girls would have gladly pitched in for the cause.

Even with Miss Gorgeous doing her absolute best to try and break my self-confidence, I still felt my audition went pretty well. I was strong, I was sassy, I was super hero..ish? I WAS….not going to be playing the part of the Black Scorpion. Not getting the role was not the worst part. At this point I had developed a pretty tough skin and rejection was the nature of the business. But finding out that I lost the part to Joan Severance? Hi wound, meet salt. I don’t know how many of you remember Joan. She’s a B actress who mostly did low-budget stuff in the 80’s and 90’s, and I had once briefly been hired on to be her body double. Until I quit that is. I couldn’t stand the woman. She was arrogant and just plain mean. Hell, I would have been happier if the slutter- sorry, strutter would have landed the part.

Hearing that Joan “Is she thin enough to fit into my clothes?” Severance had cost me another job was too much to bear. I was over the acting thing and needed a break. I just want to go to work and hang with my friends. I couldn’t believe what I was thinking. I actually wanted to go wait tables so I could see my co-workers. My friendly, relatively normal, funny, co-workers. I got to work and my mood changed immediately. It was a Friday night. I had the best station in the restaurant. And the Friday night staff was stellar. This was going to be a good night. Not to mention, Ashley and Becky were going to have a party at their house afterwards. Things were looking up.

My station was the first to get sat, the second to get sat, and the third to get sat. I was about to make some serious cash. Everything was working like clockwork that night. My customers were great, my timing was on, and the tips were generous. And then table 15 was sat for the third time. No worries. I was in the zone. I approached the two rather large gentlemen who now occupied my table.

“Good evening, gentlemen. How are you do—“

“We’re ready to order,” the one on the right cut me off, without making eye contact.

Okay, so this is how you guys roll? That’s cool with me. The less talky-talky, the quicker I turn this table and the more money I make.

“Sure, what can I get for you?” I asked them.

“We want a Rotisserie Chicken.”

”Would you like that with mashed or –”

“Mashed Potatoes,” he cut me off again.  I just nodded and wrote it down.

“We also want a Chinese Chicken Salad, a Meatloaf dinner with mashed potatoes, and Tuna Melt with french fries. We’re going to share them. But you don’t need to bring us extra plates.”

“Would you like something to drink?” I asked.

“What do you have that has free refills?” Sigh…Not a good sign.

“Iced tea and lemonade.”

“No sodas?”

“No, I’m sorry, but we charge for refills on the sodas.”

“We’ll take two iced teas then.” Seemed easy enough. All I had to do was get them their drinks and four full size entrees of food and let them have at it. Piece of cake.

I got them their drinks and before I knew it, their food was in the window and ready to be devoured. And boy howdy was it devoured. I hardly set the plates on the table before they started digging in. I swear one of them almost stabbed me with a fork. I took care of all my other tables and made sure to keep their iced teas filled to the brim. I must have walked past that table at least 7 or 8 times and I never once saw them put a fork down to take in air. Wow these guys can eat. It looked like Jabba the Hutt and his twin brother at a buffet. The only things that were missing were a laughing lizard and a chained up Carrie Fisher. Yikes. But I thought our relationship was moving along swimmingly. I kept them in iced tea, and they ate everything except the table. But even that was in jeopardy.  So you can imagine my surprise when the guy on the left told me he’d like to speak with the manager. They must have found a hair or something. Oh the kitchen is going to get it. Ha ha! So I brought my very sweet, very rookie manager Luis to the feast already in progress at table 15.

“Hello, may I help you gentlemen?” Luis asked in his cute little Spanish accent.

“I want to complain about your server,” Jabba #1 said.

What the Hell? Seriously? Whatever. Once they started complaining about me I took it as my cue to exit the vicinity.

“No, I want you to stay here and listen to this,” Jabba #1 said, pointing at me with one of his stubby little sausage fingers. So out of morbid curiosity, I stood there with Luis to hear what the complaints were.

“We’ve been sitting here the whole time and she never once asked how we were doing, or offered to take our plates from the table.”

Look here Jabba. You fat mother @#$$%^%&%^&!!!!! But I kept my lovely thoughts to myself and tried to defend myself more… appropriately.

“If you remember correctly I did come by and ask you how you were doing. And that’s when this guy,” and I pointed to Jabba #2, “with a mouth full of food asked me for some ranch to dip your fries in. And as far as clearing your plates go, you never once stopped eating long enough for me to even THINK about taking them off the table!” Before either one could respond, I calmly turned to Luis.

“Luis, I’m going to walk away now.”

“No Stacy, you need to stay here.”

“No Luis, I don’t. It’s your job to listen to complaints, and it’s my job to wait on the tables. So, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go do my job.”

“The Force is strong with this one,” I smiled to myself as I walked away from the Jabba twins. Luis was distraught but he got over it. He was a strong little Storm Trooper.

Two months later the managers all had a meeting about me. This should be good. I was asked to come into work 45 minutes early so I could have a talk with our General Manager. I was not a happy camper. I walked into the office and sat down, waiting for something terrible to happen. And it did.

“Stacy we want to offer you a management position.” She said. They must be smoking crack.

“Ummmm… thanks? But how much does that pay?” I asked. And she gave me a dollar figure I almost choked on. No wonder she’s so skinny. She can’t afford to eat!

“That’s per week, right?”

“No, that’s per month.”

“Do the managers still have health insurance?”

“No,” she informed me.

Okay, that’s an easy one.

“No thanks,” I told her. “I’m happy where I am.” Yes I could have taken the job and gotten to walk around in fancy clothes and look all bossy and stuff. But let’s be honest, they were just underpaid babysitters who had to put up with WAY too much crap from the customers. And even MORE crap from us servers. My General Manager looked at me with pleading eyes, “Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.” I looked her in the eyes and passed my hand in front of her face.

“I’m sorry…but I’m not the manager you’re looking for.”

To be continued….

Love it? Hate it? Let me know! Send questions, comments, brownie recipes or random brainfarts to: mrsdiagnosed@yahoo.com


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