10 Hours?!?

So, I don't want to jump to any conclusions yet, but as I lie here in bed typing away on my iPhone, I'm starting to think I may have gotten over the flu in 10 hours! The pain and stiffness in my neck, legs and torso are gone, and it seems I've only go leftover DOMS in my back and biceps from my workout. My stomach isn't tight and empty anymore, and I don't feel nauseous at all.. My throat doesn't even hurt anymore, it just feels a little stuffy, but I haven't coughed at all yet. But that's all I have left. We'll see if I've really beaten this thing after breakfast.

The Battle Plan

Coming to grips with this whole flu thing isn't too bad, now that I think about it.

One, if I was to ever get the flu, this week might just have been the best week. I just finished my midterms hell week the past Thursday, and even though I'll lose some progress by staying in bed the next few days, at least this didn't happen at a less forgiving time, say, my next hell week, or Dead Week.

Two, I've been wanting to go to this epic Paul Van Dyk concert tomorrow night. Before, the only thing holding me back was my finances, and it wasn't doing a good job. Hopefully, if I wake up tomorrow morning completely destroyed, I'll have a good reason not to go.

I guess I was also getting tired of human contact anyway.

Seriously though, I'm not expecting a lot out of the next few days. Last year, I got over the flu in 36 hours. But those 36 hours were drawn out like a bad movie. I spent 32 of those hours in bed. I couldn't eat or drink, or even move. (This was also the first time I had the flu)

I just hope I don't lose a lot of weight like some of those crazy stories I've heard. I don't have much weight to lose.

Hopefully, if you're reading this right now and you're not an idiot, you'll go and get your damn flu shot right now. But if you're already in "PWND" mode, here's some super-dee-duper advice that I've gathered from across the Intarwebz:

-Just get rest. Resistance is futile.
-Vitamin C and water are your best friends. If you must eat, grab some fruit. Apparently, these help in the "detoxification" process.
-The vitamin C in food is actually significantly healthier for you than it is in pill form.
-I did not know this before, but the starving feeling you get when you can't eat anything (fasting, I guess) actually helps get the icky gooey meanie bully flu viruses out of your body faster. Fasting is a detox process. Who knew?
-Nyquil/Tylenol/Whatever resembles meds helps.
-Dairy is a big no-no.
-Caffeine reduces the body's ability to absorb vitamins. I did not know this either. It also dehydrates you much faster.
-Antibiotics are last resort only. They will weaken your immune system. They don't really work anyway.

Now that I think about it, it WOULD be my luck that I get the flu on the day I decide to start my daily workout routine. Awesome.

Someone please call the fire department, my foot's stuck in my mouth again.

I've been putting off updating this blog for the longest time. I don't really know why. All I can really say is, I never would have guessed the reason why I came back.

It started when my roommate Pawan started sniffling last Thursday. He was talking like someone had put a clothespin over his nose. Me being the asshole that I am, I thought it was fantastically hilarious at the time.

Too bad I forgot Karma is a two-headed bitch. If it had a best friend, its name would be Irony.

I guess the red flags really started popping up when he coughed a couple of times before he left for Houston on Saturday morning. How was I to know though? Dude smokes a pack and a half a day, what else am I supposed to think when he coughs?

At least emphysema isn't contagious.

Actually, I haven't been entirely honest. My roommate doesn't actually smoke a pack and a half a day. He smokes two. He doesn't smoke at all. Anybody who knows Pawan would be shocked if this was true.

Anyway, so shit really started to smell when I came back after the UT-OSU game. My throat felt really, really, sore. I overlooked it, since I yell so much at games that it's a given anyway.

But then it kept hurting the next morning. And when I went to sleep that night.

The next morning I was coughing. Not like, dry heave coughing, or that annoying raspy old man coughing, but like, little girl coughing. WTF?!? I never do that.

Then my friend Tiffany treated me to lunch at Kinsolving. Normally, I go crazy over Kin's All Ving, since they're the only legit on-campus place to eat, and I usually finish several plates' worth of food. I didn't even get seconds. My rosemary chicken thigh was thrown away, sad and half-eaten. I was racking up clues like Sherlock Holmes, but I hoped I was wrong, just this once.

By the time the periodic nausea set in tonight, it was too late. The all-over soreness, which I thought was just DOMS from a brutal back-and-bi workout the day before, became actual pain and stiffness. My stomach seized up after I tried taking my usual dose of creatine. I got nauseous at the sheer thought of even mixing a protein shake.

It can only mean one thing.

I think I might have the flu.

Back and Better Than Ever / Playing to Not Lose?

Back in UT and man, it feels like that first breath of fresh air you get after you've been underwater for too long. Not to rag on Houston too much because I do have positives to draw from there, but nothing compares to the feeling I get knowing I'm in Austin. The atmosphere is buzzing, there's always something going on, the parties are bumping, there's no family to hold you down, and there are friends on every corner. Even the air feels cleaner.

I'm living in an apartment now. I'm rooming with my friend Pawan, so the first thought on my mind every time I open the door and walk in is, "Man, this place smells like Indian." At least his mom makes damned fantastic curry.

The apartment is plush and loaded, but since we're splitting a one-bedroom pad, the catch is that room for furnishing is kind of, how do i say this, lacking. Our dining room, living room, and study room are all consolidated into one room, and right now we haven't quite moved everything out yet. So, past the curry smell and light switches that either don't work or are placed in places of nonsense, we have random boxes of stuff lying everywhere and it kinda smells like curry when you come in.

Curry jokes aside, all the sophomore pre-med stuff is getting set up pretty legit so far. I've all but locked up a volunteering gig at a medical center surgery center, it's only a matter of time before my fine dining job calls me in for an interview, and I'm finally getting started on the research path. Even my classes seem damned interesting. Except for that physics class. Someone please tell me why, at the University of Texas, the physics professor has to spend the first two days of class explaining dimensional analysis, scientific notation, and basic graphical analysis. Please. I almost fell out of my chair out of pure boredom. Or insult.

On a last note, I found this New York Times article on the psychology of losing, pretty interesting.

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http://www.docsheadgames.com/2008/08/cerebral-matter_29.html

“There is a huge amount of social and psychological forces keeping people from quitting,” Ori Brafman said. He gave an example of an experiment by a Harvard professor who auctioned off a $20 bill. The catch was that while the winner got the $20, the bidder who came in second had to pay the amount of his bid, but got nothing in return.

The experiment was done repeatedly with a variety of participants, and most bidders dropped out at about $12, usually leaving two to fight it out, Mr. Brafman said.

“They didn’t want to be a sucker, paying $12 for nothing,” he said. The record? A bid of $204 for a $20 bill.

“Rather than thinking about winning, they’re playing not to lose,” he said…

… “It is as important to teach someone how to quit as staying committed,” he said. “Lots of times people just stop showing up, and that’s wrong.” Rather, he suggested, say something like “ ‘I tried to work it out, and this not a good match for me.’ Do it in a responsible manner.”

The truth is, it sometimes shows more courage to leave than to stay. (NYT)

Life with Landry's: A Public Service Announcement (Sponsored By Your Friendly Neighborhood Waiter)

It could be worse. At least you're not owing money.

No, it should be better.

Why is it turning out this way?

No, I deserve better.

Don't I?

These were the arguments and rebuttals that flew around in my head as I poked along down Westheimer, another long day at Landry's behind me. After all, I had good reason to debate. What did I have to show for 12 straight hours of grueling restaurant labor? 40-something bucks of tip money. I didn't even break 50.

All day long, I was starving for tables. I watched, with confused bewilderment, as other sections filled up left and right, and my co-workers "complaining" about being double or even triple-sat. Boo hoo. I would look at the one occupied table in my 3-table section, and wonder, what the hell was going on?

Meanwhile, I had nothing much else to do, so I tended to my tables like they were royalty. Same way I always do. And man, how the compliments flew.

"You're spoiling us."

"Flawless service."

"Everything is perfect."

"What was your name again? We're asking for YOU next time."

"Don't you dare let him go." (That one was to Mike the GM, and right in front of me)

Compliments sound great. I love hearing them. They help keep me going.

But here's the snag in the line: Compliments don't pay the bills. They don't build up your tuition savings. They can't fill up your gas tank. You can't take a "You're the best waiter I've ever had" and order a Double Meat Whataburger and medium Dr. Pepper with it. Come to think of it, you can't even wipe your butt with it.

So, instead, here's what I heard all day long:

"You're such a great server, and because we love you so much, we're going to tip you 10%. Hope that isn't too much."

End result: An insultingly small earning.

This isn't the first time I've had days like this. Rather, it's more of a recurring trend. Not just myself, but for others as well. For whatever reason, when it comes to tipping, so many people nowadays choose to hang on to their money the way mother bears hang on to their cubs. And waiters, for all the trouble they go to, to make customers happy and full, have to "suck it up". Even if they do get stiffed, they have to smile and somehow force out a "Thank you very much" between their teeth.

That isn't to say I haven't had people who saw the light and tipped me as generously as I served them. I've had many Guests tip me even better than I thought I deserved. But my fight is against the undyingly faithful 10-percent-er's (or lower!), the people who tip based on the discounted price when they bring in coupons, and people who lie and bitch and complain to intentionally knock things off the bill. People who stay (read: SUFFOCATE your section) for 4 hours and tip 10% for their time. And people who come in to order half the restaurant and then walk out on the check? You are the scum of the earth. I hope your souls burn forever in the seventh circle of hell, torched with the fury of a thousand suns.

I had no idea about this kind of stuff before I started waiting tables. And now, to say the least, I'm much more experienced and opinionated about the subject of tipping. I just wish it didn't have to come at the expense of my wallet.

So where does rant end, and "lesson learned" begin?

Here goes: Even though you go out to eat to have a good time, have fun with friends and family, or whatever, remember that your waiter is a person too. Even though he may have his own priorities for being there with you and the way you're treated, remember that he controls 99% of what goes on to make your experience the way it is, regardless of how much (or little) you tip him. Okay, maybe 99% is a slight exaggeration. But you know what I mean.

Waiting is a tough job. Sometimes, you feel like you're on top of the world. Other times, you have to pick yourself up and force a smile after you've been slapped in the face and knocked down to the ground.

The thing is, people who wait tables don't do what they do, to be met with the short end of the stick. For most, their entire livelihood rests on the number you put above the dotted line. They could care less about the way you treat them. They could be elsewhere, at more rewarding (or consistent) jobs, leaving you with the REAL cream of the crap. But instead, here they are, sacrificing their time, dignity, and sanity, braving bitchy managers, burning-hot plates, slippery floors, near-spills and revolving double doors, to make sure your only job is enjoying a worry-free meal. Bottom line: We take good care of you, you take good care of us. Simple. Everyone wins.

So, the next time you're out eating, and the person serving you food is doing a good job, let them know! Even if they're not doing so great, be a little understanding and encouraging. It'll help in more ways than one. Of course, if they slap you in the face and call you a ho, there might be just a little cause for concern...

And one thing above all: Tip well, if they deserve it. Even toilet paper costs money.

Houston: Where Nonsense Happens

I was driving back home from Landry's today, angry, frustrated and disappointed at myself. Mike the general manager had sent me back home again for being late. Again. This time, by 45 minutes. Ugh.

For me, getting places is definitely half the battle. I kick ass at work, but getting there on time is a different story. I think I might have been on time or early 5 times in the entire month I've been waiting tables. If CP time was a real disease, I should be hidden away in some hospital's terminal ward. If it were a crime, I'd probably be serving 13 life sentences. Call me a con. Or a cancer patient.

I couldn't get Mike's parting words out of my mind. They scurried, gnawed, splintered away in every recess of my thoughts. Like a rat.

Strangely, it wasn't that the threat of losing my job was bothering me. I had just heard another chorus of the same song I've been hearing my whole life. It felt like when you hear one of those crappy tracks they put out on the radio nowadays, and after the umpteenth synthesized repeat, you think, "Okay, this song's definitely gone on long enough," and you change the station.

Why?

How?

When?

Screeeeech. I was yanked out of my thoughts. I looked around, realizing I had ridden 10 feet past the crosswalk line of a red light.

Reversing and shaken, I wondered how, in my distraction, I was somehow able to realize the light had changed without even paying attention. Or how I had driven several blocks down an empty Westheimer in the same lane, perfectly straight. Maybe I've been in autopilot for too long.

I sat and stewed at the intersection. A few seconds later, a ray of sunshine hit me right in the eyes. Squinting, I reached up and flipped down the sun covers, and looked outside.

It was a beautiful day. White, happy clouds. Nice blue sky. A gentle breeze licked my cheek through the open window. A Frisbee and a buddy would have been perfect then.

Rain hit my arm.

Wait, rain?

A few seconds later, and my windshield was completely drenched. Wtf?

Somehow, for all of one wacky minute, it was raining like Rita all over again. Then it stopped completely, gone as quickly as it had come. In the middle of a perfectly normal day. It didn't make any sense at all.

I laughed.

Only in Houston.

Tired of Waiting, Gone Clubbing

Wow. I haven't written in here in nearly a week.

My ears hurt. They're still ringing and slightly numb from the speakers at the club. I actually just got back about an hour and change ago, around 4:30. Going clubbing alone was weird at first. And I definitely felt the cost more. I had to come in coupled with a girl I was waiting next to outside so we could both skip the 50-odd-person line, and having to tip the bouncer $20 was icing on the cake. Bad icing.

I spent some time just chilling at first and scoping out the venue, because I haven't been to Rich's in a while. Once I got started on the dance floor and the heavy house rhythms got pumping, though, everything got way better. Especially when they made the lights strobe-flash to the beats when they hit a crescendo. God, that stuff gets me so pumped up. But I think dancing is a lot better if you do it with your eyes closed, or at least a little. Distracting visuals disappear and you're swallowed in a sea of thumping bass and electronic melody. Then you just let your body carry to the rhythm. Great stuff. I kind of wish I had stayed longer.

Didn't get to see my 4th of July fireworks this year because of Landry's, but I got my lights and sounds show anyway. Sweet.