So it's to youth I sing you this story, and it's of youth I sing it now

Go into work today. Got the decent hair going until-right when I walk in the door. Then it goes all shit. To be expected. Manager guy-who has never spoken a full sentence to me-is there and I say to him "Oh Mr. Manager-I need to do my test-y thing-y so I can make some money and have big fun delivering food to people." and he says "Right, yeh...Do we have any Chateau St. Something?" then he wandered off and ignored me for half an hour.
So I say to him, "What am I supposd to do?"
"Give her two tables," he said. And so I'm waiting tables again. Probably in a week or two I'll be given the test I was supposed to take today-soon as I've developed habits I'll show how bad they are in writing.
The work was far from hard-tho I had trouble locating bread a few times or plates or baskets or shit like that. Not necessarily my fault but it came out of my tippage sweeties. Here is how I understand serving: Everyone is human, most people understand that everyone is equally busy in a restaurant situation. Just keep the drinks full, the smiles honest and get the food and drinks there fresh and right away. Some shit takes longer than others, be friendly. When in doubt-do a little stand up-it distracts them. Good enough.
I'm being glib-Fri night or Sat-those days will probably break my balls and I'll be whimpering for my mummy. Tuesday was groovy tho.
I pulled in mediocre money tonight. But it was pretty slow and I kept getting tables that only wanted snacks (seriously-I had 5 people out of about 12 that only wanted soup salad or sides that isn't lucrative) But I had close to $40 after tipping out the bartender and busser (I wish we didn't have a busser, cuz I don't need or want one, but I'm sure I will feel different on Friday)
So, I brought in a few bucks today-much of which immediately went to dog food and beer (the necessities).
Did I say I saw Kris Kristofferson on Sunday? What a fantastic show. Really fantabulous to see someone up there that's been writing songs for all those years and just really having a good time. He played for about 2 hours--I was in the balcony right in front of where he was onstage. Just him and the guitar. He played all my favorites-including my favorite song that I could've done just fine with him not playing, "Jody and the Kid" a song that makes me cry like a little sissy girl every time, without fail. I'd downloaded from eMusic his most recent CD earlier that day and listened to it twice trying to decide whether or not to go. It's a really good disc, solid and honest and pure, highly recommended. Good and political too. He's still got a lot to say, does that old dude.
"How'd he look?" Mum asked.
"From where I was sitting, he looked good. All gray hair and ragged jeans, y'know."
"Oh, I well can imagine," she said. "I can imagine. Hmm..."
"Ma you better be careful, Daddy might hear you talking like that." She's always had a thing for Kris and Dad's always taken issue with that. It's humorous.
After the show I went back to The Alley with hopes of shaking his hand. I didn't have a camera or pen or anything, but I thought it would make Mum jealous and that would've made me laugh. I wound up pinned between a lightpost and the bricks of the Ryman with fanatics on either side of me. Even when it occured to me I'd prefer not waiting around (he was sick, I didn't want to meet Sick Awesome Dude-I'll wait for the chance to meet Awesome Dude) I couldn't leave. A woman kept trying to crawl over the crowd, she was erratic and reeked of whisky and beer her eyes were wild.
"I just have to get to him!" she yelled.
I was pinned against the wall.
"You don't understand," she said to me, "It's for my mother."
"Yeh, my ma's a fan too," I tried to end the conversation.
"No, she died. My mom, she died, she died a week and a half ago, she was 56 and she was cremated but she loved Kris and I want his autograph so I can put it in with her."
"Well, I'm sure if he isn't feeling too bad he'll do that for you. But you know, he isn't feeling too hot." I wanted to leave-but I couldn't get out, short of crawling over the truck.
A rep came out and asked that people please disburse as Mr. Kristofferson wasn't well and he appreciates the support but really couldn't stop and talk. No one moved.
"I just have to get to him!" the woman that had lost her mother yelled. "Please." She was obviously drunk, and full of grief. It depressed me. I pushed my way out of the crowd-not an easy task-and went to my truck.
By the time I drove by, less than 5 minutes later The Alley was empty. There was no sign of the woman who had so desperately needed an autograph, I'm sure she didn't get it and that she will never forgive Kris Kristofferson for ignoring her dying mother's request. It just seems about right.
Me? I'm just glad I got to sit up in the balcony of the Ryman and hear Sunday Mornin' Comin Down.