short little skirts and leathery skin..mmmm....

I walk up to the table of tennis snobs, (hating life AND myself) and say, "hello".
...
they continue talking to each other as though I am not there at all--they don't even make eye contact. I stand there for a minute pretending that I don't hate them. I stand and I wait. I know these bastards have been in a restaurant before; I have waited on them before (always pleasant). They know that after they rearrange all the furniture on the patio so that 6 other tables are blocked, they are to order drinks from the lowly waiter and then continue on with their superfluous ramblings. They are then expected to shout at the help any time they want and demand things they know they will never use. After the demands have been met, they are to leave the standard 5% tip and 20 minutes of trash to clean up and go on their merry way. The most important part of this process is the ordering of beverages; without that step the rest goes to hell.

I am thinking all of this as I stand at attention with a fading smile on my face and hatred in my heart, waiting for them to answer the damn question.

nothing

Finally, I just went for it

"Can I bring you all something to drink?"

Now, I hate these people and wish them nothing but pain and suffering, but I can still feign pleasantries when I have to. I was playing the game.

Apparently my RUDE behavior sparked something in one of the male tennis bastards (maybe some rude prostitute gave him gonorrhea or something, I don't know) because he finally stopped talking to the whore across the table and gave me the finger.

Not the finger I was mentally giving him, but the 'get back in your place you stupid waitress' finger. He says, "Oh no, hold on, we need to try that one again" like my father scolding me for talking back--only I am not 5 years old and this piece of crap is most definitely NOT my father. I didn't even know what to say, I was so shocked so I blurted out "OH WOW" and stared at him in disbelief.

It got so much worse.

When I get fired (and I will, at some point) it will likely be on a Sunday afternoon. I will probably have to be peeled off one of those condescending assholes and escorted out of the building. I will then spend the afternoon playing in the park and giggling to myself.

even in frightened kitty mode, I own this.

So I pretty much consider myself a bad ass... you know, in the least conceited way possible, and I take great pride in my unwillingness to sort of float through life being guided by whatever crap-tastic circumstances I get smacked with. Of course, I sometimes find myself wrapped up in the chaos or trauma of the moment and jump into a self-loathing pool of emotional bile, but I hate that place, tire of it very quickly and don't tolerate it for long. It seems like I get bored with pretending to hate myself after a few days and take out the whip. Generally I guess I consider myself to be fairly active in my experience.

.passivity leaves a bitter aftertaste.

But then there are moments when I get all icky-noncommittal and, for unconscious reasons I'm sure, keep my mouth shut on issues that I truly feel very strongly about. WHY, sara? Why do you do this? It's total BS and I know it. What the hell is the point of feigned docility? I tell myself it is because I am learning to be patient (rolls eyes), which I hear is a virtuous endeavor, but I know that's not it; I hate patience.

I have found that in situations of uncertainty and occasions wherein there is a very real chance of failure I just shut down and leave it up to...who? whatever god happens to be wafting past my window? Time?

Thing is, that sense of doubt only crops up when the issue is important enough to matter. SO I AM ONLY CHECKING OUT ON THE IMPORTANT STUFF?!

?backwards?

AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

.it's fine.