Waitressing In Provincetown

Sometimes chefs would come in too drunk to cook. On more than one occasion, hot bags of garbage tore open all over my lower half. I drank entire swimming pools full of Diet Coke mixed with cranberry juice…

I had to wear pleated khaki pants, an over-sized, tucked-in Izod polo and listen to John Mayer for the entirety of my shift. One afternoon, while listening to “Why Georgia?” I looked out the window to see a dark, skeletal figure peddling toward me on a bike as old as he was. The first pair of words to enter my mind were “Ichabod Crane.” The second were “John Waters.” And indeed, it was. Waters made a little loop around the parking lot and motioned for me to come outside. I smoothed my chinos and scurried. “When are you folks opening for dinner this evening?” he asked. I did my best to answer while sincerely questioning my grasp on reality.

I wrote about waitressing in Provincetown for eight summers, John Waters and John Mayer over on Thought Catalog.

Go have a look.