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At the end of a long (bad) day, the thing foremost on one's mind always seems to be finding a place to collapse quietly. More to the point, how long you have to walk until you can collapse without being trampled.

But instead, I'm here. My leg muscles are literally twitching because I've been on my feet virtually all day, except when I would sit to drive. And I'm contemplating exactly why I take things so personally all the time.

People tell me it's one of my greatest faults (it's in a hot debate somewhere, whether it's that or condescension or the weird way I alter my inflection when I'm talking just because normal plodding speech seems so dull... anyway). And part of what started the day out with such a wry note is how a waiter named Sam (Adonis, not Irwin) came up to me, took my elbow, and told me with an easy grin that today was "Official Loosen Up Day" and I must start it off proper by telling every one of my tables a joke, smacking one of the managers on the butt, singing an aria for the restaurant (that bit was easy, and accomplished first), and purposefully breaking something just for the therapeutic noise it made. I thought it was funny. He loved that I was giggling, and I forbore to mention that it was just in the face of Adonis that I turned into a spinster instead of a teenybopper. I wondered what he'd think if I mentioned that in my circle of friends at school I was becoming one of the wild ones...

So yeah. I was well on my way to loosening, simply because I'd been nervous about my new job and desperate to catch on as quickly as others wanted me to, and was finally getting the hang of it. I'd been told I was doing a good job, and just needed to stop and clear my head when I got flustered b/c that inevitably made things worse. I was being cheerful and polite without seeming like an eager sycophant for once, and it was looking like a nice quiet Wednesday.

Then my buddy (we share sections of six tables, trading off tables and looking out for each other) decided around two that he wanted to go home. He's a bit of a slacker. Then he clocked out. And left.

Then four tables walked in the door and wanted to sit in Smoking, my section. That on top of the two I'd just begun, and Official Loosen Up Day was... well, Officially Boinked Up.

Six tables. I'd been waiting tables for about that number of days. And they give four at a time to the most experienced waiters. They were thinking to close down three of the tables in smoking, and that obviously was no longer a possibility. So sympathetic waiters swooped in to the rescue, carrying out orders, but there are still certain things a waitress must do herself, like greeting the table, taking the order, ringing it up, and checking back once the food is delivered to see how it is, and finally dealing with the check. This, times six.

One woman (admittedly a bit rude) spoke angrily with a manager, told me, "Please go away" when I came by to ask how the food was, and left me an eighty cent tip on her table's thirty dollar tab. I hadn't even realized anything was wrong until she told me to go away.

And me with my taking things too personally... I went on my way as best I could, smiling but I could feel it was stiff and didn't quite reach my eyes, and when I rang up two ten-percent tips in a row I finally thrust a check at another waiter, said, "You give that to table twenty-one," and practically ran to the bathroom to cry.

I came out a couple desperate minutes later, knowing this was definitely not the time to break down, since I still had four tables to deal with, and hoped that in the dim restaurant lighting, my eyes wouldn't be too red-looking. Went back to the kitchen when I finally had time to breathe to ask the manager what the woman complained about. "The service was a bit slow, honey, but it's not your fault," she said in her fascinating South-African accent (it's like Australian, but through the nose), and then she returned to berating some hostess, and when I heard the words "you idiot" "seating six tables" and "new server" I knew my job wasn't on the line, and it made things a bit easier for me to stand.

But at four, when I took home twelve bucks in tips for three and three-quarter hours, I did abuse my steering wheel and pray frantically for a few seconds (for forgiveness- in advance) before yelling at the top of my lungs, "GOD-(BEEP)ED (BEEP)ING (BEEP)!" and crying again. I felt like such a wimp. It wasn't my fault, they said. It had nothing to do with me. I was doing fine. I did pretty well for six tables at once, and I just got screwed over. I was taking it too personally.

Yes. Official Loosen Up Day. It shall be deferred until tomorrow, when I will begin my odd little quest of Taking Things Less Personally (and trying not to take the admonishment to "loosen up" too personally in the bargain).

While we're at it, what makes people prone to take things too personally? I know some of my friends do it, and it drives me crazy because I hate to see them hurting. I know they feel the same way about me, and my hypocrisy sends me down the same little spiral, and yet... there are people in the world who truly don't give a monkey's uncle.

How do you people do it? I beg you, e-mail me. Are there classes I can take? Is it genetic? Should I marry a thick-skinned guy so I can bear luckier children? It's just no fun. It really doesn't get you anywhere, much as people may think it does, because the less sensitive you are, the less aware you are of how insensitive you are, and ignorance is bliss. I'd love that. You may piss people off, but hey! You don't care! So it doesn't matter! What luxury...

On a side note, I went home and grabbed a quick bite before going to my first weekly baby-sitting job, and a two- and five-year-old can wear you out, but it's the good kind, if you wind up sitting on a couch with a toddler snuggled under your chin, their eyes heavy and their body limp because the crying fit just ended (some kids aren't used to a babysitter that says No, especially if Mommy doesn't make a practice of it), and they're subconsciously clutching your shirt and listening to you sing them quiet.

They're sweet girls. And I bet they don't take things too personally...

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