My Doppleganger

I once again shed my everyday image as freelance musician and struggling artist, and emerged from my secret phone booth (a.k.a. the employee bathroom) as Super Server, my not-so-cool alter ego. Like most of the overqualified, creative types posing as wait staff in restaurants all over this city, I can hang with the best of the professional servers in the industry; committing long and modified orders to memory, anticipating a table’s every need without being overly attentive, and keeping my inner monologue a secret to everyone but myself so I never tell a rude or condescending customer what I really think of them.

Every once in a while, though, life will throw me a curve ball that will test the strength of my mental filter, the one that keeps my thoughts from touching my tongue and escaping through my open mouth as a quick retort or hurled insult or any variety of guttural sounds that could potentially get me fired from my menial day job.

About halfway through my shift, I had an older couple from the neighborhood seat themselves at table three. I smiled and waved at them from behind the bar, as I had waited on them before and they have always been quite courteous. I got them drinks and appetizers without incident, and when I set their entrees before them, I cheerily asked if there was anything else they needed. Suddenly, the husband snapped his fingers in a “Eureka!” sort of way, and I looked at him quizzically.

“I’ve been trying all night to figure out who you remind me of,” he started, “and I’ve finally got it!”

I kept smiling, eyebrows raised, waiting to see who I would be compared to this time. A young Sigourney Weaver? Julia Louis Dreyfus from her Seinfeld days?

“You look like a Cocker Spaniel!” the old guy exclaimed triumphantly.

I could feel a flush creeping across my face as his wife hastily backpedaled in his defense, “He means that in a good way, dear! With their curly hair and their big ears, they’re just the cutest little things!”

My teeth were clenched (so I wouldn’t tell him that he looked like a Sharpei), but I kept my smile firmly in place.

“Yes!” he agreed, “I just mean that you’re a very pretty girl."

So I did the only thing that Super Server could do in this situation: I laughed and thanked him -- for telling me that I looked like a dog -- then I walked away.


photo by sweetron1982