Three Minutes

I got off work early today (there was an incident with my Boss and his daughter involving a bucket being kicked, keys being thrown, a lot of screaming, and some door slamming) and came home to a message from Skipper. It started off friendly and ended with her demanding I blog in a very frustrated tone. I hate it when Skipper gets frustrated with me, and seeing how I still have two hours until Weeds, I figured that if a blog is what she wants, then a blog is what she shall have.

I spent this weekend making Dr. Sylvia look good. Saturday was the 75th birthday party for her old boss, and seeing how Chef Doug is back in California, I was the lovely Doctor's date. It was a luncheon of about thirty people, myself being the youngest, the rest ranging from forty to eighty. I knew going into it that it was going to be an afternoon of my usual shtick, five hours to be precise. In the last couple years I have come to hate my shtick: the same stories, the same jokes, changing my playlist depending on the crowd. It's too easy, and old people are a way too of an easy sell. The things I do for Dr. Sylvia.

So we are standing there at the apero, Sylvia and I, both not really knowing anyone there, when a seventy-five year old woman with fake red hair walks up to us. She had worked with the Doctor about thirty years ago, introducing herself as "Borgy" (I am not even making that up, that's the woman's name). It wasn't a couple sentences after her introduction that she started to persistently ask Sylvia what she had done to deserve a man like Chef Doug. Now, I have grown up with women displaying this sort of jealousy towards Doctor Sylvia, but seeing how I like to give people a good three minutes before I decide what part of myself I am going to give them, this woman's three minutes ended thirty-seconds in, and I only felt bad for her when we were seated at the same table. Between asking me if I "think before I eat," and grabbing me by the arm and asking me to promise that Dr. Sylvia give Chef Doug a big kiss from her, she was lucky I didn't pull out her dentures and shove them down her wrinkly throat. Fuck with me, OK. Fuck with Dr. Sylvia, and I will wipe pavement with your face. The woman just didn't know when to stop, and Dr. Sylvia and I both felt relieved when she began to embarassingly slather herself on the man sitting next to her. The best part of our whole Borgy-ordeal? Chef Doug didn't know who she was until Dr. Sylvia had to explain to him for a good couple minutes who she was. Goes to show that real women marry real men, and old whores go forgotten. Think those words are a bit harsh? Don't fuck with Dr. Sylvia.

The luncheon as a whole was nice though. It was kind of tappas style, which, if you have ever had to suffer eating with me in a restaurant, was great. I have a tendency to get intimidated by large plates of food to the point of freaking-out and having to leave, so tappas fit me perfectly. Old men flirted with me, the youngest (who looked JUST like Greg Brady from the Brady Bunch) is actually one of those police helicopter pilots, and I found myself thinking that his flirtation could come in handy if I ever get arrested. His wife was also very nice. After five hours of doing my shtick, Dr. Sylvia and I took three trains and a bus up to Sorenberg and immediately changed into sweats and flip flops, and sat outside staring at the mountains and laughing about Borgy, and Greg Brady calling me "Baby." It felt like all those nights of working at my parent's restaurants, sitting in the back booth after closing, laughing at all the characters we had to smile and bullshit throughout the dinner service.

Sunday was spent having another of Dr. Sylvia's old co-workers coming up to Sorenberg to have lunch at a hotel I use to work at. I really wasn't looking forward to another round of shtick, but we were going to one of my favorite restaurant's in Switzerland, and Sylvia promised me I could order what ever I wanted, so I went. The Doctor's co-worker was fine, but his wife came off as a challenge. Luckily, after years of working retail, and having to woo difficult middle aged women, I have developed a variation of my shtick that is more or less always leaves them saying, "Don't ever change! You are going to go places!" which always leaves me wanting to do the exact opposite. After four hours of saying the right thing and making Doctor Sylvia look good,(at one point the woman turned to Sylvia and said, "You know, I hope you are proud of your daughter.") I was tired and felt nothing short of cheap and fake. If only they knew I was a totally asshole who was going to later blog about scamming them. The things I do for the love of my mother.

Now I sit in my nearly empty apartment, with four more days in Luzern. I am pretty sure if I wasn't so stressed with moving, and annoyed with still having to work, I would be sad to depart. It would also probably help if I had friends here, but seeing how I let them go a while ago, my good-byes are few and far between. I am going to miss my desk chair, the solitude of my apartment, Pilatus, the lake, etc. Redwood city hasn't got shit on Luzern, but it's time to go, start the next chapter.

After Saturday I will be residing at my grandparents in Basel for a week, then MFP is coming and we are going to Vienna, Prague and Budapest for ten days. I booked the trip, and we are both very excited to go. Although Chung and Skipper are amazing travel buddies (Chung because she is Chung, and Skipper because she always seems to pack a suitcase full of chaos in mayhem), but MFP is THE ONLY person who is not only insanely flexible, but can calm me down from an anxiety attack with a hand massage and expertly chosen words. The girl is a goddamn yogi. I am going to do my best to blog it and redeem myself as the blogger I once was.

Whew, I don't think I have typed this much in weeks! Hope you enjoyed it Skipper, this one was for you.

So not proof-read, but I spell-checked with love.