There Is No Gluten in Your Salad: Yes, I'm Sure

I've been told twice in the past week that I am very attractive. Once by an old drunk man at a nightclub, and once in Spanglish by a woman who buses tables at my restaurant.

Just when I was worried that wasn't as validated as I would ever need to feel, a guest told me, "You did a really great job," as I dropped the tab on his table. He was completely genuine, as if I had seemed nervous the entire time that I was just somehow not getting the knack of

1. Say hello
2. Take order
3. Ask how everything is
4. Drop check

Then, he referred to my gay colleague as "the skinny one." To my FACE. When my face contorted into a sad swirl of self-loathing as I looked down at my body, he recovered with, "Not that you're not skinny, but..."

I think it's important that America knows you shouldn't feel the need to traverse too far to engage your server. Most of us are well aware we're working off the indenture to our misguided dreams, and a solid monetary gratuity or a general, "Everything was great," will suffice. We'll make conversation if we feel so inclined. You're the one trapped under a table not knowing where the bathroom is.

There was a moment where I thought I would quit my job. It came right as I realized I was not going home for the holidays. The panic set in that I would be waking up at 5a.m. on Christmas in an empty apartment with no tree to drive through a snowless city to serve eggs to people spending hundreds to stay in a hotel on my favorite holiday.

But then I waited on the corporate team from Chipotle and they tipped me with free burritos (and a generous monetary gratuity).

There is a silver lining in every cloud, and it's usually the foil around a free burrito. Or six.

I've been drinking less,

TJB: Making It

Another Round

There was a time when it was all about who you know. Now, it's all about who you know knowing more who. You know?

I have had more networking meetings in LA set up by friends than I have had meetings with my friends. So far, they've resulted in me being great at finding street parking in West Hollywood and ignoring my bladder's begging while I nurse a drink for two hours.

Listen, my friends all know I have a tract more active than a pregnant woman with twins, but I can't let that be my first impression to the people who could shape my career. Pregnant women pee a lot, right? I'm basing this off of one time when a pregnant woman pleaded to use my restaurant's restroom, and I pointed her to some public restrooms outside. Equality, am I right?

Last night, I spent ninety minutes crossing my legs praying I wouldn't wet myself in front of Young Hollywood. Just when I thought I had an opportunity to casually excuse myself for the facilities, the Pretty Agent Girl mentioned how perfectly I captured the tone of Mindy Kaling's characters. I couldn't just say, "Thanks, she's my hero. Excuse me, I have to pee." I tried, but once I realized the Future Network Exec had also read my material and loved it (I mean, I could skip taking Benadryl to sleep for a night loved it), I was trapped.

Eventually, I had to do what anybody who wants to impress important people and end while they're ahead (read: pre-pissing-own-pants) would do. I paid for their drinks, told them how amazing they were for two minutes past desperate, and bee-lined it for the bathroom as soon as their backs were turned.

I didn't even lock the door. But it might have been a multi-person restroom anyway. You can never tell these days.

I think they liked me,

TJB: Making It