Canter’s, Approaching Midnight

RobNoxious and I are sitting here, shooting the proverbial shit, and Canter’s is packing up. The line to get in is stuffed like a twice-baked potato. Nearly every table is full, and about half the people coming in are nattily-attired youths on their way to the Kibitz Room, presumably to have exciting, memorable interactions and then choose partners with whom to fornicate later in the evening. Whereas I’m here with my monte cristo. And Rob.

I may have mentioned Sheryl. She’s my new server. She doesn’t insult me like Daniel did. But then, she doesn’t call me Tootsie Pop either.

Sheryl has the least seniority of any server at Canter’s; she’s only been here nine months. Before moving to LA she lived in Massachusetts, and I tell her I used to live in Boston, and then she mentions the Celtics I have to do that thing where I pretend to know more about professional sports than I do. She’s really busy, so she didn’t notice.

OK. I’m going home. Janna is here, and she’s gonna take over. I’ll see you all at four in the goddamn morning.

Lord. The things you do for love.