Tanked up Zombie

How do you want your eggs? French toast or pancakes? Meat? What kind of toast? Coffee? More coffee? Heat it up? Decaf? Tea? Really?

{Tea has more caffeine dummy}

The specials are on the board. No – I can’t see them either. It’s very nice to see you too. I have a boyfriend. I have a husband. I’m busy. Be right back. My feet hurt. You think I’m pretty? Wait a minute please. Sorry I’m not the cook. Really, we are closed; fine, yes you can have coffee.

Basic vocabulary for a few years.

When I first started working at the Diner, I waited on a table of eight men and women from a local engineering company. A funny raucous group. I remember them fondly because when I later took a job, where my first husband was working; they were in the marketing and applications departments. The girl who interviewed me said hello and that she remembered me as the girl from the diner who carried eight glasses with her fingers submerged in the liquid.

“Ya, that’s me. Hi – nice to see you again.”

I got the job–a slacky in the marketing department. Loved it! Many loves and stories about that company and that group of interesting and diverse people. And only the beginning of my love of all things marketing!

Back to selling eggs for now…

I worked Tuesday through Sunday 5AM till around 3PM. Those would still be ideal hours for me if I didn’t have to be home. Although lately I’m up all hours of the night like a tanked up zombie. I often worked under those conditions. In 1993 I was drinking like a pig and taking Valium often enough to shake myself awake in the morning. They were blue and yellow and I took whatever was available. Quite honestly, I have no idea if I was quick on my feet those days. I doubt it. I know I did my job and I almost always showed up. Functional alcoholic. Anyway a hangover and sedation at a crappy diner job is acceptable is it not?

It wasn’t really a secret that I abused substances and my body. It never has been. I am an obvious – whatever addiction I am dabbling in – food, booze, substance, pill, exercise, shopping. Obvious to those who love me. Others see – foody, social, rundown, athlete, fashionista.

Some days I shook while pouring coffee out of that hot glass pot. Other days I would hide in and out of the bathroom saying serenity prayers and popping pills. It was a good job for a young control freak with a basket full of crazy to share. Daily, I could share or not share my opinions with people who generally had no interest in me other than giving them a smile and hot coffee.

{Hopefully the cream is good. I thought that EVERY time}

Recently, I was taking Miss Carry on a local tour and took her by The Bug Guy’s house. She was surprised that he was such a big part of my life. The Bug Guy was a sort of role model, positive male figure in my life. He was a bachelor. You know I love a bachelor. He took care of his Mom and Aunt until they died. He lived a fast life when he was young and was just smoking and shaking his leg waiting to retire. He would give me odd jobs to keep me busy and put cash in my pocket. He would tell me life stories and reiterate the point that you need more than six figures to live comfortably.

{Nobody had ever put it so plainly}

He would tell me which guys were winners sand which were losers. He introduced me to Mathew’s father and my job at the University. He’s how I met my third husband, Matthew and The Mute. The Bug Guy is the connection to my life as I know it today. I think of him often and thank him from my heart as I write.

Check out Halloween related Diner Entry at https://eggssmokesex.wordpress.com/2011/04/23/rites-of-passage/

Copyright © 2011-2012. Eggs.Smoke.Sex. All rights reserved.

Words and images on this blog are copyrighted and not to be reproduced in any way without my express permission in writing. Please contact me with any queries at cognitive-ly@live.com

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