Monday, November 26, 2007


I think that everyone should be allowed to dress in a way that gives one personal satisfaction... within reason. I have a vendetta against Crocs. No one could look decent in Crocs. Johnny Depp would become only mildly attractive in Crocs. I'm angry at how Crocs have decided that they have the right to invade the realm of high heels and actual apparel, but that's not what I want to talk about.

I work at the restaurant of a yacht club. Classy, I know. I fetch your rolls with a fetching smile and the perfect amount of perk. "Thaaaanks!" I say, with way too many "a"s and cheer in response to a compliment. "Ya welcome," I reply to your grateful words (God help me, I'm such a Bostonian sometimes, but it's endearing). I'm probably the most adorable waitress there, or at least the one most enthusiastic about her job. I've only been waitressing for about 6 months, so I still harbor idealistic hopes for my future, unlike the haggard older waitresses who have realized that this is it. We actually have one woman who works there who is a talented singer, but her career never got off the ground.

Anyway, waitressing requires practical footwear. Not heels. You will slip and die. I wear an old pair of shoes I got for marching band, because they're good for not falling, which is an important aspect of my job. Some of the younger servers have decided that it is somehow okay to wear Crocs at work. They say they're "comfortable" and "practical" (Clinton and Stacy are dying a little inside as I type such words). They say that they're "non-slip." I'm not saying band shoes are attractive. Far from it. But they're practical without making me look brain-damaged. Our managers told us several months ago that Crocs are not allowed, as they're made of rubber, which is not impervious to sharp objects. They also have holes, which are not impervious to scalding liquids. They also have ugliness, which is not professional.

It's Thanksgiving, which means ever waiter and waitress in the place is running around frantically. Was table 54's dewars on the rocks or straight up? Did I give 67 their rolls? Good God, I have a reservation for table 48 in 5 minutes and the busboy hasn't set it yet!

The least of one's concerns should be how to stop their foot from bleeding profusely.

In a quiet moment, I am minding my own business in back when one of the Croc-roaches hops her way back there with me and sits down, followed by another waitress and our tiny manager, who tells her she'll go get the first aid kit. The girl's foot is bleeding. Apparently there was broken glass on the floor-- as there tends to be on very busy nights when people are dropping things and hurriedly cleaning them-- and it went right through her precious Croc and pierced her foot.

Am I a bad person for wanting to go up to her and say "Serves you right for wearing those hideous things that you've been told not to wear! Whore!" The "whore" would just be to drive the point home. You know, add insult to injury.

Am I a bad person if I sort've think of this as a Thanksgiving miracle?

The Moral of the Story: if you wear Crocs, you get what you deserve in the form of jagged, dirty glass creating a very uncomfortable puncture wound in the bottom of your foot.

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