quick life check: what’s in the kitchen?

Depending on mood and who they’re speaking with, people define themselves in an assortment of fascinating ways.

Accomplishments, failures, dreams, lies, jobs, marital status, kids, animals, what other people say, what they wish other people would say, how their kids behave in public, the things they own, the things they’re going to fix, the person they used to be and the person they’ve pretty much given up on.

Wondering who you really are?

The good news is there’s a simple way to find out.

The bad news is that it involves the kitchen.

I’ll go first.

Here are several things that, when isolated, are benign. In fact, they’re quite pleasant.

But added together…

1) The peninsula. I wanted one because I spend so much time in the kitchen and ONE spends so much time “eating.” The child nurses a pb&j the way I nursed a Yuengling when I tried to like beer. I’m a severe multi-tasker, and wanted to be able to get something done while she sang and told stories in lieu of feeding herself.

I also thought it would be nice for her to sit up there and color or work on crafts while I cooked.

2) The coffee maker. It’s so freakin’ awesome I can’t stand it. I mean, seriously. Just look at it. It keeps coffee hot for 4 hours but never burns it. I am one of the pickiest people I know about my coffee so I spent a lot of time researching this thing and the right ratio of grounds to water. I set it up at night and the perfect brew awaits me when I shuffle into the kitchen at 5 to write. AND it’s easy to clean.

3) My goodie drawer. (Not to be confused with the goodie drawer I used to have by my bed that was relocated due to certain life invaders under the age of 4 who found my unmentionables worthy of mentioning.)

This drawer contains an arsenal of Post-Its, pens (good pens), notebooks, journals, zip drives and my Franklin Covey Planner.  I love, Love, LOVE making lists. (And then I piss myself off when I leave the lists on the counter and don’t realize it until ONE and TWO are situated in a shopping cart in the produce aisle.)

Who am I?

Am I the person I embellish to make myself sound more interesting than I really am? The person I’ve overheard myself describing over the years as “A writer who spent a year in the script department of Sesame Street and five years in programming at PBS who came ‘this close’ to having one of her manuscripts published by Simon and Schuster?”

Um no.

I’m a freakin’ waitress.

Haven’t waited a table in seven years now.

Doesn’t matter.

I’m still a freakin’ waitress.

I work the morning, lunch and dinner shift on my very own counter. I make drinks and pile plates with food to then hand them across the counter to family, friends, or guests who I’m probably lying to about who I am.

My coffee maker does not include a pot, so that means I have an urn on my counter.

I have a drawer for towels.

I love eating omelets and fried potatoes.

I pick food off of plates before I serve them.

I’ve also picked my own hair out of the pan and if no one saw me do it, it never happened.

I sometimes lean against my counter and remember cigarettes.

Fondly.

So, what’s one to do when they face the fact that they’re not quite the person they’ve spent years verbally cultivating?

That depends.

If you’re home in VA, you do nothing. You say nothing. You drink your coffee and smile at your kids and pretend it never happened.

BUT, if you’re home in Jersey for the weekend, you go back to the site where it all happened and remove something.

A memento.

A little souvenir of your life.

Something to bring home and face yourself with.

Something that says, “I’m a f*cking waitress and I’m proud of it.”

Tags: careers, diners, dreams, homes, jobs, kitchens, waitress