The Waiter Chronicles (part 3)

Broken glass count: 2.

Ahhhh . . .

Today is a double shift, so I worked lunch and I have to go back in an hour and a half. Nothing broken, no humiliating mistakes today--so far.

The owner of this restaurant has me torn. One minute his Italian accent and machismo is hilarious and endearing, the next minute he's demeaning. I'm not worried about staying on his good side as an employee at all; he's an adult, and I'm adult, so we're peers. I'm just trying to figure out if spending this time in his employ is making me a better person or a bitter one (hat tip: Alan Wang).

I stopped at the Maxi Foods on my walk home just now for some tortilla chips. When I came out of the store there were cop cars speeding down the street toward my apartment. I got within a block from home, and the whole street was full of police cars, fire trucks, and an ambulance. There was a helicopter circling overheard and police officers with handguns drawn surrounding a house not 100 yards from my front door. Some kind of shooting had taken place, and the shooter was still in the house and armed.

I stared for a moment, but then was shaken out of it by the officer on the porch of the house next door. He was squatting with an M4 rifle and he said to me and the other lookers on, "You guys better get back a bit. We're not hiding here with big guns for nothing."

That was all I needed. I crossed the street and walked the rest of the way home. Don't they know I have another shift in less than two hours? I got to get off my feet, eat some chips and guacamole, check my email to see if that editor is going to publish my article, and watch an episode of 30 Rock.

Can somebody tell that helicopter to keep it down?