Today I went to work and made like “$30 after tip out. I sat in the back for an hour before I went up to the hostess and said, “Why aren’t you seating me? I’m still on the floor.” She apologized and said she didn’t know. And then I got cut. I was like, “Damn!”
To be honest, I made more money at Denny’s in 2 days than I make at Red Lobster in four days. These short shifts kill my average and no one wants to tip BIG during my lunch shifts, so different from the bank I was making serving the drunk after the club crowd at Denny’s. But Im gonna stick it out because I’m starting to get regulars who request me already. That’s a good thing. I am a good server and I love what I’m doing. Just wish I could make more money at it.
When I came home, my brother left to go to his barber shop, he’s a barber, and his kids were sleeping. I felt so guilty when they woke up and asked me to help them with their homework. I helped them, but I felt like I shouldn’t have when I have kids of my own who are growing up in another home. I’m supposed to be helping them.
Then the kids played a little and my brother came back and we sat outside just talking and getting to know each other better. Since he’s a barber and his (our) dad is a barber and his brothers are barbers too, there are so many dudes who come by here to see them. I meet like 6 new dudes everyday. ~smh~
I appreciate my brother for inviting me to stay and I hope that we can become good friends. I can tell that he loves me by the way he looks at me and the way he speaks to me. It’s so nice to be surrounded by love.
My phone is off. I let it go off because I’m just…tired.
I’m still editing this book and it’s really getting to me. Man, I am way too emotional. It actually hurts to read her writing. I feel like slapping her on the hand and saying, “Go do something else. This ain’t for you.”
I know..that’s mean. Shit, I’m not the best writer but I do know good writing and I know how to tell a story. Hell, even Tamara tells better stories than she does and I used to think Tamara was illiterate in highschool. Tamara couldn’t write a note for SHIT.
Seriously, in government class she would try to pass me a note and I’d write on the top of it PLEASE RE READ THIS ALOUD, REWRITE AND PASS BACK TO ME.
She hated that but I hated to read some misspelled, crazy ass shit. I couldn’t understand what the hell Tamara was saying back then. Now, that bitch gets straight A’s from the stories she writes to me through email. I don’t know what happened, maybe FSU educated her ass after all.
Anyway…I’m going back to this book and trying to think happy thoughts at the same time. I am grateful for the opportunity but I now know that I can not be a book editor unless the writing is BANGING!
Later.