“Hi, Friend. How are you this evening?”
I looked up at the waiter guessing that I didn’t know him but doing a double take just in case he was actually a friend of mine from another life and we happened to be crossing paths again.
I confirmed he was a complete stranger, and instead of pointing out that he likely shouldn’t be tossing that word around all willy nilly since, as far as he knew, I could be selling drugs to kids on the street.
Instead I smiled and ordered nachos and wine, the meal of classy broads the world over, and decided that it’s best to choose my battles.
I recently told actual friends of mine that I should get Botox in my frown lines so that my resting bitch face isn’t so strong, but maybe I should rethink that if this man instantly thought I was “friend” material. I couldn’t have any of that.
Then he brought me a plate of quesadillas, and when I politely told him I thought I ordered the nachos, he told me he was sure I said quesadillas. No friend of mine would think for a second I’d betray my love of nachos, so I knew right then this “friendship” was dead on arrival, and instead he was moving his way to my mortal enemy list.
It’s not that I’m trying to be a bitch, but sometimes it just comes across like that when things rub me the wrong way. Like this stranger who calls me friend then denies me nachos. A cardinal sin in my book.
Apparently my face showed my disappointment more than I intended it to, because we suddenly had a different waiter for the rest of the evening.
But now that the sun is finally shining in Seattle and the weather is turning around from the wet and cloudy days of winter, attitudes are starting to change. Even I start to shed my bitch skin a little bit.
I went to brunch yesterday and everyone was smiling. Several people approached me to tell me about how lucky I was to be sitting in the sunshine.
My waiter said, “My sister’s name is Carly. She is blonde too.” I didn’t know what to do or how to react to that info, but it was clear that it brought him some sort of joy, so instead of shitting all over it, I simply said, “Cool, what are the chances?” And watched him walk away happy.
I heard a little girl start wailing on the bus because her parents told her that they were going to see the Fremont Troll, and she thought it was a real troll. Instead of being annoyed, it was hilarious listening to them explain that “this one isn’t a real troll” like maybe there were real ones that she would have to stress about crossing paths with in her future.
I went to the grocery, my least favorite task on a weekend, and a woman next to me in the produce aisle asked my opinion on tomatoes.
“Excuse me, are those good?” she asked as I put them into my cart.
I stopped and looked around, sure she wasn’t talking to me. No one else was stopped and she was making eye contact.
“Oh I don’t really cook, so I couldn’t really tell you.”
“But you’ve had them before?”
“Yes, and they are fine, but I also don’t try different kinds of tomatoes. They are good, but they are the only ones I’ve ever bought here. I’m a creature of habit.”
“You look like you know what you’re talking about. I’ll trust you,” she said as she put some in her cart.
People in Seattle could talk about different kinds of produce and how they grow it themselves and the varieties for hours. I can barely make it down the produce aisle without it stressing me out.
So I expected her to have higher expectations of me. But apparently I just looked like a girl that knew a thing or two about good food.
I laughed to myself. Something was definitely different now that it was sunny and semi warm out.
I waited in line to buy some Girl Scout cookies outside of the grocery store. These girls were making bank as a homeless man in my neighborhood who has some disabilities sat trying to sell papers for money.
Unfortunately I didn’t have any cash on me and felt guilty.
The guy in front of me didn’t want to buy cookies but simply “wanted to make a donation to the Girl Scouts.”
I thought he was kind of an asshole for not paying it forward (even though I would be the beneficiary of someone buying two boxes of cookies for the next person in line). Then he would not shut up about it to the kids and their moms about what a martyr he was and kept asking about their badges.
I felt my bitchiness rising up in my throat as some of us actually wanted to buy cookies and could give a fuck about him chatting up little girls, but figured I needed to keep my cool or I’d be denied Girl Scout cookies.
I bought three boxes and asked the guy selling papers if he liked thin mints before handing over a box and apologizing for not having any cash.
I suppose I feel I have to counteract my bitchy tendencies by making up for it in other ways, but I’ll tell you this much: if you’re looking to spread some joy, Girl Scout cookies are the ticket.
I’m also a firm believer that no one should be denied thin mints in their lives.
So as long as I can pay it forward with a nice deed from time to time, I figure it all evens out in the end.