So is it any wonder that when this closet-princess was faced with an impending doom, a Disney movie scene was the first thing to cross her mind?
Imagine my onset of agita when, as Jackson and I were being seated at our table tonight (yay! he wanted to take me out for dinner and a baseball game!), none other than CH walks to our table and says, "Can I get you started on anything tonight?"
Somewhere in time, while the handsome 30-something year old caucasian male placed an order of drinks and appetizers, a pretty almost 30-something year old caucasian female stopped breathing, and her ability to speak, act or think coherently was over-taken by The Emperor's New Groove; a favorite of hers, and something her subconscious instinctively knew was right for the situation:
Thank you, Kuzco. Thank you for facing all-too-certain death with calm and dignity. Thank you for being that example.
Unfortunately, I don't thing I was quite so stoic or nonchalant about the whole thing. In fact, I am pretty sure I failed miserably.
How could I possibly focus on food, or even attempt deep - nay! - even flirtatious conversation with what could possibly be the man of my dreams when all the while, I know CH can round the corner with a plate of cheesy fries?! And worse, know that tomorrow I'll be drilled by him, and probably all of the faculty?
(Small tangent: Cheesy Fries, How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...)
And, even though I know it is part of his job description, I don't think a waiter needs to check on the status of my drink, my food, my (dis)comfort every 2 minutes.
Yeah, I timed it. Not kidding. It's like CH had a special radar knowing when Jackson was going to turn the conversational mood from "light and easy banter" to "Hey, this girl seems interesting. I think I want to know her better" mode.I was so nervous that I don't think good conversation was possible, anyway.
To make matters worse, by the end of the meal (which I shoveled into my mouth as quickly as possible just so we could leave the dreaded place, looking like a starving heifer in the process, with Jackson wide-eyed and probably thinking, "Can her digestive system handle the speed of intake? Will she throw-up on me? Again?"), I practically yelled at both Jackson and CH when he oh-so-innocently - but I know better - asked, "Any room for dessert?"
"No! We don't want any dessert. We just want to get the check and go. Hurry up."
CH just was biting his lip, trying to hide a smile. Jackson sat across from me, in a mixture of shock, judgment, and disapproval.
Jackson: You know, if you didn't want dessert, "no thanks" would have covered it.
Me: I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. But can we just go? Please?
Jackson: Okaaaay. But don't you think you owe him an apology?
Me: What? To this waiter? No. No,no,no,no.
Jackson: What's wrong with this waiter? (And here I could tell he was really starting to get upset). Are you that much of a snob?
Me: Snob? Of course not! I am a very humble person. (I said this knowing that that is probably one of the least humble statements ever. I felt like such an idiot). I like waiters. I have nothing but respect for food servers. I -
Jackson: Prove it.
Right then, CH comes to our table with the check.
Jackson: (To CH) Thanks.
Me: (Spitting the word out like poison) Sorry.
CH: Exuse me,what was that? (Then he winked at me while Jackson bent his head to search for cash in his wallet. Oooooo he wasn't making this easy).
Me: (Deep, calming breath) Sorry. For rushing you.
He didn't say anything but smiled and grabbed the check from Jackson, then wished us a good night out as he disappeared into the kitchen. Or Hell. Wherever.
As we were walking out, Jackson threw his arm around my shoulders (a momentary feeling of joyful bliss), and jerked me back from the clouds with these little words:
"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"
Oh Jackson, if you only knew what awaits me tomorrow in the teachers' lounge.
Oh Elsie! What ended up happening? Did he harrass you in the staff lounge? Perhaps you should have been straight forward with Jackson and told him that CH was a coworker of yours.
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