No, I am not even kidding. So, last night. Natalie asked me to take her back room hosting shift, so I went in at 4:30 to begin a long Saturday night of refilling water bottles, buffing silverware, seating guests and stacking glasses. Not the best shift, but I was totally in Good Attitude Worker Mode (I didn't even take a shot before work!). Feeling particularly positive after two hours of work in which I had rearranged the reservation seating chart (could have been a disaster!), got the server station extra stocked up and sparkling clean, AND had time to make myself a chai tea, I decided to do one more extra task to make sure that the servers were fully equipped to attend to their customers.
Big Mistake.
I went to the dish pit and grabbed a stack of short glasses. I even set down some of the glassware when I realized that my stack might be too tall to carry safely. Feeling smart about the decision, I carried a foot-tall stack of glasses to the back service station and carefully set the stack down.
Unbeknownst to me, one of the glasses in the middle of the stack was slightly cracked. When I gingerly set the stack down, the crack in the glass crumbled under the weight, making half the stack of glassware explode, and sent a giant dagger of glass straight into my wrist.
I had no idea that blood could squirt out that that, or that it was that dark. After my shocked co-workers rushed me into the kitchen to wrap my wrist in towels, I shakily called my boyfriend. He came and collected me (I apologized to my co-workers for leaving early, and they waved away my concerns as they mopped up bits of glass and blood) and thus began our Harborview Emergency Room adventure.
Harborview. Oh. My. God. What is happening there?! Why do you have to wait for four hours while various sketchy people mill about the waiting room? What is going on the the single person bathroom?! Why is the television set constantly tuned to SPIKE TV and 'America's Worst Accidents'? AND WHO IN GOD'S NAME IS EXPLOSIVELY PROJECTILE VOMITING (I can hear it but I can't see where it's coming from)?!
Part Two of Bad/Weird Luck: I finally hear my name being called. I get up (and my wonderful boyfriend follows, toting my purse, jacket and several snacks from the vending machine) and walk towards the voice. A male nurse turns around and my jaw drops. Its Memphis. What. The. Hell.
So, back when I was at SPU, there was this RA (except that at SPU we called them Peer Advisors for some reason) who was to rich, blond Christian women how Justin Beiber is to most twenty five-year-old lesbians. Every girl in Ashton Hall was obsessed. Like, insane. Maybe it was the fact that this college was made up of about 2200 rich, blond, sexually repressed women (and about 900 equally sexually repressed men), or maybe the fact that Ashton Hall was three floors male and nine floors female, or maybe it comes down to the amount of men who came out as gay post-graduation, but a seemingly straight, single man was in hot demand in those days. Gross, I know.
Anyways, that's not why I turned beet red when Memphis came up and awkwardly "Christian-Side Hugged*" me. I was more embarrassed, because the last time I saw this guy was around 4am, on some Tuesday night back in 2006. I was running around the dorms as a 19-year-old and decided it would be hilarious to strip down to nothing in the dorm elevator (it was 4am, it was the women's side of the dorm and let's face it, everyone was in bed at SPU). I was also singing. Loudly.
Unfortunately I forgot about the fact that every single one of the RAs has 'nightly rounds' that they make during the wee hours of the night (to make sure no good SPU girls are losing their V-cards or drinking Mike's Hard Lemonade). And unfortunately, that night was Memphis' turn for duty. And, yes, of course he was standing on the other side of those elevator doors.
I'm pretty sure those were the first boobs he ever saw.
Anyways, end of story, I poked and prodded and x-rayed and had four separate doctors come in to unwrap the gauze and pronounce it stitches-worthy and finally I got stitched up and sent home. And by home, I mean I went back to my work to sit at the bar and have a stiff drink.
*Appendix:
Christian Side Hug: Because, you know, when you hug "full frontal" it immediately leads to sex, gayness, babies, AIDS and drinking Mike's Hard Lemonade.
Courtesy of fuckyeahnouns.com
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