Today started off pretty slowly. I was at work for an hour and a half before the first table even walked in. I had three tables in my entire 4 1/2 hour shift, but it wasn't all bad since they about 20% tips and one of them was a birthday party of seven. Extremely slow, but considering I worked about 9 hours yesterday with about 4 hours of sleep, I was fine so I wouldn't have to run around.
I even got free lunch because last night, an extra hour of that was me hostessing between the time I served tables and the time I was supposed to clean them and do my side work. Because the girl who was hostessing had to go to her birthday party. So I got free lunch and got to clock in from the $2.13 and hour to a whopping $5 an hour! But I got the second most expensive dish on the menu, so I can't complain about that either.
Plus, Mr Fix-It snuck me a piece of some dessert that they made for something. I'm not really sure. I was at a table eating and he ran out and handed me a little plate and said "Here, try this. Its the brownie with the chocolate pie!" and then he ran back into the kitchen. I'm still not really sure what it was, but it was good and I'm not dead, so whatever.
I got home and changed into pajamas, then Mom suddenly tells me, "Its not going to storm. Lets go to the fair!"
The food was gross and she almost choked on a lemon seed from our lemonade, but we played that game where you have to pick a duck out of a little swimming pool. The guy said that it was two dollars per play so Mom gave him four dollars, so we could both play. Then she asked how many ducks she had to pick up.
The guy told her that she had to pick up the number of ducks for "two times five". She picked up ten ducks and he looked at me. I asked him if I had to pick up the same number for my turn and he told me "Pick up the number for one times one". So I asked him "Just one duck?" and he gave me this look so I was positive that I was wrong, but I couldn't figure out how. It turns out he's worse at math than me because he didn't even know the answer to the question.
But that's not what I'm trying to write about. That's not the big, attempted murder thing that happened tonight.
When I was little, I could have sworn it was my mom who taught me how to play ski ball. I really thought it was her. I remember playing at a fair when I was little and at Chuck E Cheese's, so I guess I assumed it was her since she was the one I was always with. But all of that was proven wrong tonight.
The goal was to get like 200 points with 6 balls. I played twice and got 160 the first time and 140 the second. Mom played once and the balls kept bouncing back. I showed her how to roll them up and tried to explain how hard to do so. Then she played again. More actually made it in...until the last one.
The last ball rolled up fast, bounced off one of the numbers, bounced off the cage around the game, and came flying back down. I reached down to try to catch it and took a step backwards, but it still hit my leg, bounced off and went rolling away. The game dude had to chase it. Had I not moved, it would have hit my knee. Had I not reached out to catch it but it bounced off my fingers... Well, let's just say its a very good thing I'm not a boy because that would have really hurt. He tried to hand the ski ball back to my mom and I snatched it away and just said "No. Don't even." Then I threw it for her.
I'm already getting a pretty big bruise on my leg. I told Mom that I will never play ski ball with her again unless I'm wearing a helmet and shin guards since she turned it into a combat sport. Not a contact sport, but a combat sport, because it felt like a war zone after that.
If anyone sees the giant bruise I'm going to have on my leg, I have decided that saying, "I was playing ski ball with my mom" is too boring. I'm going to say, "A rogue ski ball came out of no where and tried to break my leg."
Some good did come of this though. If I'm mad or scared of something, all I have to do is say, "Back the fuck off or I'll make you play ski ball with my mom."