World's Worst Waiter

I'm the world's worst waiter.

Not food server--I'm sort of OK at that, though I've never done it for money.

Waiting for people. Waiting makes me nuts.

I'm on time--somewhat pathologically so. It is my casual observation that no one else on earth is ever, ever, ever on time.

Slight exaggeration, but only slight.

As I write this, it is 12:24. I was supposed to meet someone at "around 11," which to me means, say, anywhere from 11:05 to 11:25. Later than that and you a give the appearance of being an ass. So I got here 11:20-ish thinking even though my friends are virtually always fucking late to everything, at least I wouldn't have long to wait.

*sigh*

Part 2 of this scenario?

We are meeting at Mall of America. For the uninitiated, the Mall of America is...a beast of a place--not for me (I tamed this monster a long time ago), but for people who are not here often, to come here on a Saturday, it's a pain in the ass. Anybody who doesn't come here on a regular basis is a tourist. I expect my friends are experiencing said pain in the ass in their efforts to get to me. I choose to believe that over the notion that they simply do not value my time.

I'm just being nice, though. Pretty clear they don't value my time.

Fucking tourists.

Luckily, there are many distractions here. I'm going to eat ice cream and blame them for my ass getting fat. Then I'm going to the Coach store and buy that colorblock bag that I saw that was only $450 and next time we talk I'm going to whine about my credit card bill. Then Nordstoms Rack, for the rest of my paycheck.

That'll teach 'em...