I’m sifting through old writing this morning, thinking about my artist statement for next week’s winter review presentation and my my recent body of work. I stumbled across this and thought it was a great description. It’s a portrait of me around age 17 or 18.
Blinds drawn to keep out the light, I wake up in the early afternoon in the haze of a hangover, after a late night of waitressing. I drive to the bank and deposit my cash tips from the night before. With my leftover cash, I order something off the dollar menu at Taco Bell. I return home, iron my work clothes and head off to work for another night. I work from 3 until midnight, relieving the lunch shift and filling in for another closer. She’s going to a concert, she lives with her parents and doesn’t need the money to pay rent like I do, so I get to pick up a lot of her shifts. I spend the night rushing around serving food to cranky, self-important customers. The kitchen is backed up and my customers are yelling at me. One tells me I’m worthless. The night drags on, I take a dinner break around 9 when things slow down and eat a salad in the back room. I replace the band-aides on my heals and wash the grease off my face. Just three more hours before closing. After midnight, when we are done putting away all the flowers, filling the butter ramekins, and cleaning up, I have some beers with coworkers and stumble home at 2am.