Helter Skelter Inn

So it looks like I'll be waitressing at the good ole Shelter Harbor Inn (a.k.a. Home Sweet Home) on the Rhode Island coast on Christmas Day.

This involves flashing my Miss America 100-watt smile and hamming it up about my recent charitable work and poor little sister at the front desk in exchange for money.*

Then taking orders, flashing my Miss America smile, running food and drinks, flashing my Miss America smile, acting like I know my rear from my elbow with the wine list which was revised in my absence, flashing my Miss America smile, then being yelled at for not picking up my orders in time, flashing my Miss America smile, bussing, bussing, bussing my tuckus off and running the soles of my feet off.

I'll be the first one in and the last one out.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

(Except that I will miss the rest of my family and the tables and counters so laden with food that it looks like a small grocery store exploded in the kitchen.)

*Laymen say "tips," I believe.

betholindo at 4:26 p.m.

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