Backhanded compliments

I am not a dumpy heifer.

I have it on good authority, the waiter at lunch told me so. Because in a moment of absolute insanity, I asked him if the restaurant was hiring. He brought me back an application and said that the bartender had asked, when handing over the application, what I looked like. The waiter told me he'd given me props because if I was a dumpy heifer they wouldn't even consider me.

I smiled about that for an hour, but didn't fill out the application.

My first semester in grad school I decided to make some tuition money by waitressing. Tons of my friends had done it and pulled down bank, so I signed on with the local pizzeria and went to their corporate headquarters for a week of training. Then I shadowed a seasoned server for two weeks. Then I got my own tables for a week. Then I quit. I am small. I am clumsy. I like to eat during dinner time and I get grumpy when I don't, so I became the girl who had to make a couple of trips from the kitchen to get a small table their pizza, who spilled drinks on the customers, and who was crabby as Yosemite Sam by 8pm. I got myself a part-time office job and tried to throw in my pizza apron. The manager wouldn't let me; he had me keep it for when I came back.

Apparently he was afraid he'd be stuck with a dumpy heifer who didn't spill on people.