Mistaken identity sudden possibility for a new career

The other day, my oldest daughter, Jordanne, who is attending Tyler Junior College, was being inducted into Phi Theta Kappa. It’s a really big honor to be in the top 5 percent of students who literally make the grade. I was especially excited because I, myself, am an old Phi Theta Kappar. Or Kappan. Or whatever. Anyway, I left all that childishness behind and started going to REAL COLLEGE (Read: paying three times the tuition of the old one ... but that’s another column).

So they have this really nice banquet, catered and all, and I was excited about being at my “old stomping grounds.” I just like throwing around archaic expressions like that one to embarrass my kids. Anyway, you are supposed to dress up somewhat – business casual. I drug this suit out of the closet I wore last year to the DFW’s Writer’s Conference. I thought it looked pretty good. Plus, I had on my awesome boots. I don’t get out of T-shirts and jeans very often, so I was proud of my effort.

We were all having a good time, and the food was pretty good. I decided to finish off my dinner with a cup of coffee. I asked my friend if she wanted a cup of coffee as well, and she said sure.

The coffee, for some reason, was self-served. So I hopped on over there and poured one cup for me and was getting ready to pour another one when I hear a very polite young man inquire, “Ma’am, would you pour me one of those?”

What? Esqueeze me? I wanted to say. Then it hit me: I was being mistaken for a waitress.

When I was relating this story on Facebook, I got a variety of responses:

•Did you tell him to get it his own <bleep> self?

•Hehehe.

•Could have been worse. He could have thought you were a hooker or homeless person.

This is where I answer: I’m pretty sure I was dressed a LITTLE better than a hooker or a homeless person ...

Then everyone wanted to know what I did.

I didn’t know if I should laugh or be offended. I mean, come on. So I did what any red-blooded American woman would have done.

I poured the dang coffee, of course.

The responses resumed:

•Tina, you are so sweet ... I would have done the same.

•Heart of a servant.  Good job.

Erm, not so much. I wasn’t trying to be Mother Teresa or anything. I poured the coffee out of awkwardness more than anything, and when I turned to give him the cup, THERE WAS A LINE FORMING.

Ok, I’m not getting paid for this gig, so I just walked off. A couple of people shook their heads as if to say, “You can’t get good help these days!”

I’ll bet it really ticked them off when they saw me (aka: the lazy waitress) sit down at a table, dive into the cheesecake and suck down the coffee like a vampire offered a bag of O positive.

Incidentally, I’m never wearing that suit again.  And if you ever see me at another banquet, the coffee is over by the cheesecake. It’s self-served.