the bitter waiter: The boulevard of broken dreams

During my brief stint as a trainer for new servers -- an assignment that ended after one particularly upset young man threw a patio chair into the street after I accused him of not washing his hands after visiting the toilet -- I encountered a handful of would-be starlets and aspiring actors.

And I heard the same story time and time again...

"Oh, I don't think I'll be working here long," they'd tell me. "I know people say it takes awhile to make it as an actor, but I'm different. I have what it takes to make it overnight. Things are already working out for me. I mean, I've only been in LA for a week, and I already got a job at this restaurant!!!"

My favorite of all trainees was Melody. Raised in the parenting school of "Tell Your Hefty Gap-Toothed Daughter She's A Princess," she was as delusional as she was awkward.

Each time I'd ask her a question, such as "Do you know all the table numbers yet?", she'd look at me as if I were Barbara Walters during the post-Oscar interview show.

"Well Barbara," she'd smile, "I *do* know all the table numbers. My Daddy tells me I'm very, very smart." :)

After an hour of hearing the various dysfunctional accolades doled out carelessly by her parents, I stopped in my tracks when she decided to comment on my career path.

"I mean, you've been here for what, two, three years?" she asked. "I don't mean to be rude, buuuuuut it's probably not going to happen for you," she said with a smile.

Just as she said this, I noticed one of my least favorite regulars being sat in my section. His name was Bud, a high school math teacher whose body odor was trumped only by his bad tipping as his worst offense.

And with that, I set about putting Melody in her place.

Ignoring her insult, I called upon my own gifts as a thespian.

"Do you see that man over there?" I asked with utmost gravity.

"Uh, yeah," she said with visible boredom.

"Melody...do you know who Darren Aronofsky is?"

"Uh, kind of yeah."

"He directed Requiem for a Dream? The Wrestler?" I exclaimed.

"Oh wow, yeah!" she said. "Is that him?"

"It sure is," I said. "And normally I wouldn't advise this, but I agree with you. You've got what it takes. I say you screw conventional professionalism and go over there and introduce yourself. I would myself, but clearly the odds are stacked against me in this town."

"You think I should?" she asked.

"Without question."

I stood within a few feet, pretending to set silverware, so I could hear the entire exchange.

"Excuse me, sir?" she said.

"Yeah?"

"Hi, my name's Melody, and I'm new to town. I just wanted you to know that I'm, like, a HUGE fan of your work, and I hope we can work together someday. I'm new to town, but I had these business cards made with my phone number and headshot. I hope you'll consider me in the future."

I watched as confusion consumed Bud, and Melody floated away on a cloud of her own narcissism.

"Well, how'd it go??" I asked.

"Uhm, I kinda hate to say this, but I nailed it," she said. "I could tell he was totally impressed with me."

"God I wish I had that kind of confidence," I told her. And with that, I let her bask in the dream that she'd found a shortcut to fame. Her ceaseless self-praise was somehow much more tolerable for the remainder of that day.