Waitress Week: Ode to a Former Make-Out Buddy

May 17, 2009

One of the best things about waitressing was all the flirting.  Not with my tables, so much – I mean sure I giggled a lot, but getting too flirty with a customer, when you’re also trying to get them to give you a big ol’ tip, always felt kinda ooky.

No, I loved flirting with my fellow servers.  In fact, a shift could be made or broken depending on who I was working with – a bunch of chicks and married dudes?  BORING.  A gaggle of single horndogs, and I’m the prettiest one on the shift?  YES.

I flirted, I kissed, I dated, I even had a few relationships – but I must state I was not the restaurant slut (ahem Karen!).  I just liked boys so very much.

When I transferred to my hometown Houston’s, I noticed Jason Stevens right away.  He was simply gorgeous.  Tall, thin, close-cut hair, incredible green eyes.  Much better looking than me, honestly, and I usually preferred to flirt with those hovering around the same point on the beauty scale as me, but Jason had this way of touching my lower back whenever he maneuvered around me in the waitstation, and I…just….ooooh.

So we kissed quite a bit, here and there, off and on, after nights out, after parties, in the parking garage.  Jason wanted to be a politician.  Jason  wore one of those silly puka shell necklaces.  Jason was a good kisser.

It didn’t go anywhere.  I knew Jason was a player, and I didn’t want to be just another checkmark.  Luckily, Jason was a gentleman player and seemed to sense my limits, so he never ever pressed me to go home with him.  Eventually I started dating someone else and Jason started working part-time for the local GOP office, so I didn’t see him very often.

Then one night a couple months later, big group of us went out dancing at “Chill,” the cool club of the moment.  I was wearing a very short skirt, and the other girls were wearing very low-cut tops, and we got in right away. 

As usually happens when I’m in dance club situations, the girls found a spot to drink and look sexy, and I tried to stay put with them but eventually could not resist the lure of the dance floor and found myself shaking my booty.  A few minutes later, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and there was Jason Stevens.  I shrieked and fell into his arms, and we spent the rest of the night on the dance floor, kissing and dancing.  (And probably really annoying/grossing out the people around us.  Sorry about that, a decade late.)

At 1 a.m., the lights in the club came on and we surfaced for air.  With all the alcohol and hours of dance floor kissyface, Jason’s gentlemanly airs disappeared and he asked me to come home with him.

I really wanted to do just that.  But I had a rule about going home with self-proclaimed players – which was, simply, Nope.

So I declined, and he asked again, and I declined again, and he asked again, and (oooh it was SO hard) I declined again.  And he asked me, as his hands roamed far and yonder and my skirt threatened to mutiny against my self-control: “Why not?  Why?”

And I said, “Because – you’re going to sleep with hundreds of girls, and sooner or later they’ll all blend together and you won’t remember them, but you will always remember that one girl from Houston’s who said no.”

For someone who is often tongue-tied, this was a gold-star moment for me, made even better by Jason’s rather tortured response, literally falling to his knees and moaning, “Oh shit, you’re so right.”  (He was rather drunk.)

We kissed, we clung, we said goodbye, and I never saw him again.

Sometimes I wonder why I wanted this supposedly vaunted position in his memory as the-girl-he’ll-always-remember as opposed to potentially having really great sex that night.  I mean, there’s the STD factor.  Jason seemed like a big germ risk.  But I think it had more to do with the fact that I’m just not wired that way.  I was never able to do just-sex.  And I think it had even more to do with my love of drama.  I may have been able to resist Jason Stevens’ kiss and his roaming hands, but I could not resist the chance for such a perfect Melrose Place moment.  I like to think Amanda Woodward would be proud.  (I mean, if she wasn’t such a big ol’ slut.)


One Response to “Waitress Week: Ode to a Former Make-Out Buddy”

  1. Wordslinger for Hire Says:

    How is “I hate my husband, part 2” a Possibly related post?

    I find wordpress to be confusing at times

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