Gesundheit, Baby!

The sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head, fever, so-you-can-get-on-with-your-day-medicine let me down. It didn't take care of my sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching or stuffy head...& I didn't have a fever. I got on with my day, but it was not easy. I'm on day 5 of this butt-kicking cold & I don't really feel any better. Blahhhhh.....

For the past 2 nights, I lay in my bed feeling all the guck & muck I can't blow out draining from one side of my face to the other. When it feels sufficiently full, I blow. Maybe I'll remain empty for a minute or 2. Then I lay on the other side. I wait for it to drain. The bubble rises. There is a perfect moment just before transfer, if I'm quick enough, I can blow, & I will be clear for maybe 5 minutes. It feels like I'm in a relay race against my own nose. But I can't do this all night...or can I?

I find myself drifting to sleep only to be awakened by the complete depletion of my oxygen supply. I wake, gasping for air. My throat is raw. I'm not normally a mouth-breather. I try to swallow. Who knew I'd welcome the lubrication of post-nasal drip? It's enough moisture to allow me to swallow so I can then reach for the tissue & try to blow, which leads to the coughing fit as I try to expel all that ick that's been running down the back of my throat. It's miserable, miserable, miserable I tell you. Even my dog is annoyed with the commotion.

Yesterday I had my regular 3-month check up with my doctor. I found myself actually hoping that this bug I have would be worse than it is so there would be medicine to help me. Cure it with antibiotics!! No such luck, or oh, that's lucky. Whatever. What the liquigels did do was elevate my blood pressure. Or is that the lack of sleep? My husband, coincidentally, also had his annual physical, & his doctor told him that the cold pills were doing no favors to his pulse (& he doesn't have any history of elevated bp.)

So I'm thinking this SSCASHF medicine is for the birds. I look in my medicine cabinet to see what else is there. Nasal decongestant. Allergy & sinus. Cough suppressant. Cough Expectorant. Where is the cold & flu stuff? I'm going to freak. Surely there is something here. Ahhh, all the way in the back, tiny red tablets. These are the ones that I never take. They never work. You know why? These are the ones they say are safe to take when pregnant. (It's my theory that they're safe because there is nothing in them.  I call placebo!) I honestly don't know why I have them, but I'm desperate so I take one. I'll try anything.

I have a moment of nasal clarity. Seriously. It's like that 30 seconds post-sneeze. I'm like the lady on the commercial out in the field, breathing through my nose! What?! How did this stuff work? It never did before. Jim never has a second cup of coffee at home. I see golden rays of sunshine & hear birds singing....& breathe. I feel good. Well, good might be too strong a word. I'm not ready to resume housework or anything. My glowing red nose that is chapped, peeling & breaking out all at the same time will be so happy to catch a break.

Here's a real gross-out moment for you. Stop now if you are squeamish. No kidding.

My darling little minx who probably contaminated us was eating her Valentine's chocolates the other day & had a coughing fit. She covered her mouth with her hands (Yes, we know one should cough into one's own elbow, however....) she coughed hard into her hand. My husband asked her if she's ok. "Yes," she answered, "But look what I just coughed up." EEEeeewwwWWW!!! He said, "What is that? Is that caramel?"

Through my own horror & fit of laughter, intermingled with hacking coughs, I tried to scream, "Chocolate covered lung-cookies!" She was poking at it, trying to figure out what it was in her hand. My husband's eyes clearly could not make out what he was seeing. I managed to tell her to go wash her hands, WITH SOAP! He's still asking if it's caramel. "No, honey, it's a choco-stained loogey." He physically pales. There's panic in his voice. He tells her to go, go, go, wash, wash, wash.

Kiss Me, Baby!

There has been a lot in the paper & on the morning shows about Valentine's Day. It's Monday, FYI. I can't help but speculate that this is an attempt to jumpstart our economy, again. This little holiday that asks one to put a price tag on love....ah, fabulous, marketing for the insecure.

Maybe I'm a pessimist, but there are no flowers in the world that mean as much to me as scrubbing the kitchen floor. I'm not particularly fond of chocolate anyway, so that doesn't do it for me. Conversation hearts are darn cute, but they taste like chalk. (Get with it, Necco!) You want to get me some Jolly Ranchers? Awesome! But that doesn't tell me I'm loved. A foot rub? We're making progress.

I feel that my marriage is solid enough that I don't need an extra (commercialized) day set aside, telling us when to express it. If I didn't feel that I get it nearly daily, I don't think 1 holiday will make up for that. Besides, we have our anniversary for that extra special romantic day & we don't share it with the rest of the nation. It's pretty easy to get into a restaurant. Nothing is covered in hearts. The price of roses isn't doubled or tripled. I am far more pragmatic than romantic.

The things my sweetie does for me daily that far exceed anything money can buy- those are the things that are meaningful...

• When he rubs my headaches away. Even if he complains the entire time he's doing it, he's doing it. So much better than drugs!
• My Facebook friends will recall that he was recently out of town on business & I found 'makeshift meals' because I couldn't stand the idea of going to the grocery store. I hate it. I get irritable thinking about it. My husband does that on a regular basis. That's love & dedication.
• When it's late, & I'm ready for bed, but he isn't yet...& I see a spider. He drops whatever he's doing to come kill it for me & also cleans up the guts. Talk about endearing!
• If he goes to bed before me, even if he's sound asleep, as soon as I get into bed, he snuggles up & throws his arm over me, telling me that even his subconscious wants me around.
• When we're in the car together, he puts on preemptive music: He'll play classics he knows I like or 80's pop tunes so as to avoid my complaints of his 'angry' music or listening to me sing along to my cheesy 70's lite, or worse, the childrens' request for the current Disney pop star. (I'm still counting my blessings that they never liked the Jonas Brothers, nor do they care for Justin Bieber.)

I heard on one of the TV shows that someone did a poll & it turns out that what women really want for Valentine's Day is a real expression of love- the words 'I love you.' An actual love letter, a homemade card or a poem & the spoken words... I'm not going to hold my breath to see it in writing because I don't want to put that pressure on him. I know that's tough for a lot of men. So when he asked me what I wanted for Valentine's Day, I said a house! I told him nothing, a nice dinner at home is just perfect. You see, he went to culinary school. He's quite a cook.

But I don't know what I'm going to do for him yet. Maybe a big, fluffy teddy bear covered in lipstick kisses. ;-)

And thanks, Melissa, for the earworm:
  My baby he don't talk sweet 
  He ain't got much to say
  But he loves me, loves me, loves me
  I know that he loves me anyway....

Grrr Baby, & Kiss My Grits!

Years ago, I used to read a column on the fox news website. (Shocker!) Here's a link to an old post to give you an idea- http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,252838,00.html. Poor me. The Grrr Guy stopped writing this blog some time ago. It made me very sad because every Tuesday, he was sure to give me a chuckle about some (usually inane) common thing people do that annoys everybody...except apparently, the masses who participated. The guy just cracked me up.

So about a week ago, my friend wrote up a blog about her days waiting tables at a diner. Check it out. http://lightenupweber.blogspot.com/2011/01/doris-die-hard-waitress.html. I worked in the restaurant biz for many years. Ridiculous grrrs flashed before me as I read her piece. I told her of 2 incidents & she said, "Write it up!" So here I go....First, here's the comment I made.

This one hit home for me!! Oh, God, how I hated waiting tables. My 1st waitress job was at an 'Italian Restaurant'...a family-owned, K-Mart cafeteria of Italian food. I was 22, fresh out of college, working nights to keep my days open to substitute (reminder- I have a teaching degree & used to think I'd use it.) All entrees came with a side salad. It was clearly listed on a limited menu, along with all the dressing choices. God, I used to get sooo irritated by being asked to list the dressings. Can't you read, you MFers?! The House is a Creamy Italian. We also have fat-free Italian, Honey Mustard, Honey French, Ranch, Blue Cheese & oil & vinegar. Do you have poppyseed? Did I freakin' say poppyseed?! We have Creamy Italian, fat-free Italian, Honey Mustard, Honey French, Ranch, Blue Cheese, oil & vinegar. And don't call me ma'am!!

Want to guess why I hated listing the dressings? And why I still remember them after almost 20 years? Because I had to repeat them 157 times a week, sometimes more than once per table, when they were listed in plain view on the menu...Just take a second to look before you tell me you're ready. Clearly you weren't.

The ma'am thing is less of an issue now. I don't object to it now. I understand that it's a courteous title of address for someone whose name you probably don't know. But at 22, 'Miss' was more polite... I remember being in a bit of a rush to tend to one of my tables & someone was trying to flag me from another table that wasn't mine. Normally I'd happy to help, but for some reason, the tone of the 'Ma'am' I was getting made me clamp my jaw tight & I walked on by like I hadn't heard it. I'm at the drink station refilling this man's coke for the 6th time, & I hear, 'Ma'am!' from 6 feet away...I looked at the waiter next to me, "Is she 'ma'am-ing' me? Because I am not a ma'am!" [Oh, no you di'nt!]  I took the long way around to avoid her. Never did learn what she wanted, but I know that had she asked, "Ma'am?" or said, "Excuse me, ma'am..." I would have given her 2 minutes of my time...But I wasn't getting her tip & I didn't want to be at her beck & call. I did, being the sweet gal I am, find out who her server was & inform that person that table 102 needed assistance.

I didn't mind, though many did, being called dear or honey, Miss, or sweetie.... I did mind "Waitress." (& ma'am, at the time.)

In most of the restaurants I've worked in, we had our names on our uniforms though I usually introduced myself. It was standard protocol. "Hi, I'm Kerbi & I'll be your server today...." Then I would be subjected to the same lame jokes over & over & over again....
Kerbi? Are you related to Kirby Puckett? Yeah, 'cause all relatives share first names....
Kerbi? What kind of name is that? Well, JACK, it's nonsense, completely made up. Does that satisfy your curiosity?
Kerbi? Really? No, I lied to you so that when you complain that you had terrible service, they won't know it was me!
I had a dog named Kirby once. Really? You're comparing me to your dog? Before I have access to your food?
Then there are the people who don't listen to what I've just said, scanned my nametag, & decide to call me Kerri... so I'm answering to the wrong name for the duration in hopes of claiming my $2 when it's over.

I read somewhere that calling customers by name resulted in higher tips. It made them feel special, showed that you were on-the-ball, so I liked to call people by name when I could. If they were of similar age, I often used a 1st name. "How do you know my name?" I've been asked. Because we went to high school together, because I've waited on you twice a week for 6 months straight, because I pay attention, because I can read your credit card....all of the above. Often I'd smile, "You know mine. It's only fair." If they were quite a bit older than me, I used Mr. or Mrs. to be polite. It usually worked out well for both of us. We frequent 2 restaurants where the staff can greet us by name. It is nice.

When I greet you with a, "Hi, how're you today?" & a smile, you have several choices. I mean, chances are, I don't really care how you are & I don't expect you to care how I am & I'm not going to tell you (My feet hurt, I hate this crappy job, & I think I'm getting a cold- you want it?) So you don't have to ask, but....please don't ignore the question & launch right into, "I'll have the clam chowder & fish fry. Is that all-you-can-eat?" Remember common courtesies, say hello back, say "Fine, thank you. I'd like the clam chowder..."

I really disliked the harried woman with 3 kids under the age of 5 whose first question was, "Do you get free refills?" On fountain drinks & water, yes, on milk, juice or specialty drinks no. Read the menu!!! And clean up the Cheerios you brought with you. I mean, do you leave the cereal all over the place at home? If you're not going to keep them from doing it & you're not going to clean it up, at least tip extra for the extra work! In a diner or a quick service establishment, the servers make their money with a fast turn-over rate. If you're sitting at a 4-top & you only ordered 1 meal, I've already lost potential income, but then to hold me up another 10 or 15 minutes while I clean up crumbs from the booth crevices & wipe down sticky high chairs & booster seats & get out a broom....leave an extra dollar. Geeze...

The people that flagged me down while talking on their cell phones probably annoyed me the most. Dude, I've been watching you for 10 minutes waiting for you to put down your phone, read the menu, & give me your order, but I am not going to stand there while you talk to someone else with your finger up, telling me to hold on....no way. I have other people to take care of. I'll be over when the phone is not at your ear.

One rather big grrr I had with waiting tables had nothing to do with food service, customer service, sucking up or being run around....it was the uniform! The apron that has a bib was always a bit-- problematic --for me. You see, They are a one-size-fits-all kind of thing, but for me, they were a one-size-covers-one-half...No matter how long or short I adjusted the neck strap, one boob was covered & one was not! It was most unflattering. In the Italian place, we were required to serve from a tray at all times. They thought it was more 'professional' even if it was one glass. At the diner, they preferred we use arm service, & have several other servers assist if we had a larger party. I remember my arm being loaded up & serving my table, & as I pulled the dish from the highest point on my arm, it left behind it's condiment. Yes, my boob was holding all the sour cream from the cheesy fries. I apologized profusely & said I'd be back with a fresh plate only to be told, that's ok, they didn't mind, just a side dish of sour cream. I still laugh! Really!?

I did more than wait tables in my years employed at restaurants. I started as a hostess. I then started cashiering, serving, taking phone calls, expediting & carry-out...& of course, everyone pitches in & busses (in diners & quick service restaurants.) It's hard work, mentally & physically, & a lot of times, you're the target of a foul mood, & it's often thankless. There can be a whole lot of butt-kissing for a couple of bucks...

But you know what was actually pretty cool about the restaurant work I did? I learned how to count back change quickly & accurately without using the register! The regulars who were good tippers, those who came in for a cup of coffee just because they were lonely... the random celebrity (yes, here in NE Ohio!) who'd leave you an enormous tip because you treated them like you would anybody else... the friends you made because you worked together... I met my husband in the diner job. I worked with my sister & one of my brothers, & the woman who became his wife! And the ridiculous things that stay with me, like when the owner of one establishment told me I had a sexy voice on the phone. I think I'm kind of nasal, but, you know, who's going to turn down a random compliment? When I hosted, I often wore short skirts. Someone told me I had great gams. I had to look it up as soon as I got home. (By golly, I did have great gams!!) And then there was the cutie-patootie chiropractor & all the UPS guys...

I quit waiting tables about a month before my oldest child was born. She's 11 now. This is the first time I've really looked back. I don't miss it. I don't ever want to do it again, even on occasion when I contemplate going back to work part-time, something where I don't have to bring any troubles home with me, when I can take time off when I need it because my family comes first....but I really think everybody should wait tables at least once in their lives. It's eye-opening!