Fairy Blogmother

Sometimes, I'm involved in things so bizarre, I can't make heads or tails of them. Happenings so strange that it leaves my face contorted in a way that the only applicable subtitle would be: Huh? After thinking long and hard, there is only one explanation: I have a Fairy Blogmother who is giving me material to write about.

One night, when I was still a mere hostess, a man came into the restaurant. There was a little time before we opened and the waitresses were still setting up. Before I could give him my "we're not quite open yet," spiel, he hit me with the strangest query. "I'm going to break up with my girlfriend," he says. "Can you get me the most private table?" We did not have any booths and none of our tables were intimate enough for a very public break up... Why would you tell me that? Refer to my Separate Ways entry. Eyebrows furrowed.

One time, I was waiting on this group of guys who were obviously International Studies students. By obviously, I mean they were discussing the economic situation in South East Asia. They really wanted to guess my ethnicity. Glad to be a walking guessing game. After our customer/waiter engagement had expired, I ran their cards and went on my way. When I stopped back at the table after they left, I noticed a note on one of the credit card slips. A phone number written in characters not numbers. And what is that below the digits? A 9% tip... Did he want me to call to ask him why he tipped like a foreigner? Shrug.

[Explanation: For those of you who don't know, in most other countries, the tip is included in the bill or in their staff's pay. So, it is not part of their custom to tip. Foreign travelers, when they come to the States, tend to forget they are in a country whose servers live off the tips they make, thus, making them unfavorable patrons.]

And last night, after I got done with my shift, some guys walked up to my friend and me. One guy asked if I knew who the band was so I told him. Then, he said, "You have a very crisp accent. You must not be from here." I had to tell him to not be fooled by my exterior and that I was in fact a Southerner. After a few more introductory exchanges I learned that he was from Italy and was in the area to see what the South was all about and why it had such a bad rap. His hobbies included break dancing and most importantly, he was an exotic dancer who got into the biz thanks to his ex who was a stripper. Was he hitting on me?

As my mouth hung open, I wondered: Should I have given him a $20 to see if he was bullshitting me? I don't even think I heard an accent. But, it was loud in the bar...

Thanks for the last one Fairy Blogmother. Maybe you can send Hugh Jackman my way. I would TOTALLY be psyched to write about that one!