Both sides of the fence

I love what I do when I love who I meet. People, people, people.

For the last month or so, I’ve been working with some splendid people. Beyond that, some of the customers I’ve served have been a real trip. It’s only been a few weeks, but I’ve received everything from career advice to commentary on technology manufacturing to a compliment on my diction (favorite compliment ever).

Today’s dinner shift, though, beats everything else on the “wha…?” scale thus far.

It started when two ladies walked in with what looked like two young, excitable boys. I brought them to their table, they told me I had a baby face, and I went off to some other table after throwing back some half-assed wit in the form of “thanks, it keeps me young.”

Then, when I delivered their food, they asked if they could take a picture with me because I’m “so cute.” At this point, the probably-European tourists next to us are looking sort of bemused but graciously grant my request for a few more minutes’ delay in taking their order. Upon continued insistence I sit down next to two of them, get my picture taken, get moved to the other side, and smile for the camera again.

Weird, but it gets weirder.

The two boys leave for a cigarette break after they finish eating, and as I’m clearing the plates from the table, the two ladies (L1 and L2) begin the following dialogue with me (my thoughts are in italics):

L1: My friend thinks you’re cute.

L2: *sort of giggles*

L1: Are you local?

Me: Yeah, I’m Singaporean, but I actually live in California.

L1: Oh.. yeah, I could tell. How old are you?

Me: 18..

L1: Oh you look very young.. actually she *gestures to L2* had a lot of questions for you.

Me: Sure; I’m here all night anyway.

*they both laugh*

L2: Um… are you attached?

Me: Uh… no, I’m single..

L2: So you don’t have a boyfriend?

Me: No, I used to… *my voice sort of falters throughout the phrase*

L1: Are you straight?

Me: [OH. The other two boys were girls! I’m being hit on!] Yeeahh, I’m quite straight.

L1: Quite? Like how much?

Me: [Oh my.] Like… very.

L1: Oh. Because we thought you weren’t.

Me: [Oh…. God. It’s the hair isn’t it. It’s the hair. Oh my God, it’s the hair.] Oh. No… I’m straight.

L1: Sorry for all the questions… do you think we’re very kaypoh [translation for the non-Singlish speakers: nosy]?

Me: *as my mind is still sort of reeling* No, it’s all right; A lot of my tables ask me a lot of questions. Um… sorry, I have to go take care of this *gestures to the bill folder I’m holding*

L2: Oh yeah, sure, no problem.

So I walked away, and did my waitressing thing for the next half an hour or so. The not-boys came back, we sang them the birthday song, and then they wave me over… for more pictures with me.

Birthday girl: Hey can you eat with us?

Me: No, sorry, I’m still working.

Birthday girl: It’s a birthday request! You really can’t?

Me: No, I’ve still got quite a lot of things to do. If I don’t do them then I’ll hold back my coworkers.

Birthday girl: Oh. What time are you done?

Me: 11.

Birthday girl: Oh. That’s too bad.

Then I go off and do things for another half hour or so, until I hear, “hey gorgeous.”

I turn around.

“Do you still have the box for our cake so we can pack it up?

Me: Sure. *I bring them the box.*

L1: “Thanks, sexy.”

Birthday girl: “Thanks, babe.”