Are you tired of my waitressing stories? Too bad. If I can't have any fun this week, neither can you!

The highlight of yesterday was the surly kitchen worker who -- for what everyone agreed was no particular reason -- started mumbling about shoving a tray of chocolates up my ass. (And that of several of my coworkers). "Oh good," I said, loud enough for her to hear, "Now she's talking about shoving trays of chocolate up our asses."

"Not the tray," she replied. "Just the chocolate." Or was it "not the chocolate, just the tray?" I was begged to tell the story so many times I no longer remember. I was the urban legend of that particular affair. Most of the staff banter for the rest of the day involved things going up my butt. The cranky kitchen staffer became "ass woman." Honest to God, I was still laughing when I got home, hobbled and hunchbacked, at midnight.

Amusing coworkers aside, I did start to feel embarrassed by my station yesterday. The event was an excessive corporate holiday party. Damn, I used to *go* to those, not work at them. I don't miss the corporate world but I do miss the trimmings: good money, high-end open bars, unearned respect...

So, wondering if any of the people I was serving had ever read the Industry Standard, I passed appetizers and felt like a capital-F Failure -- which I don't usually let happen based on stupidity like income or job title. Thing is, I don't want to be a corporate wonk anymore, either. What I need is a new definition of success. And direction. And a million dollars, world peace, and eternal life. That'll about cover it.