Creepers

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8OZhw-aQTP8
That is the theme song of this post. Please just let it play as you read.
Let begin with the introduction of the fact that I have never been a stranger in a strange place. I've never been completely out on my own left to my own devices with a hope of making new friends. So to remedy this, I moved into Zion National Park, where I would be surrounded by short term strangers.
First week thoughts: I chose the best place on earth to be a stranger - everyone is so friendly!
Then I slowly discover who to keep distance from and who is good people. At least I thought so.
Every time I go back into the kitchen, there is a set of eyes peering over the dish pit semi-wall. Everyone really likes giving hugs. I'm making friends easier with guys than girls (the skewed ratio played a major part in that). I hear whistles randomly when I walk outside. And the drunk guys are always extra willing to give a hug... or five.

Yea, it's really that blurry, but just know that everyone in this picture has by now left.

In a place like this, people come and go like cards on a table. It was time for our friends from Romania and some of our kitchen staff to leave, so we put on a BBQ for them. We were all eating, they were all drinking, taking pictures, ya know, the works. I was talking to my friend about working in the dining room, and hosting versus busing, versus serving. Then our leaving friend gives his dimes worth of thoughts on the subject. He started telling me how any man will give a greater tip to a waitress with strawberry-blonde hair, than a brunette, or when they wear a french braid, or pig-tails, or braided pig-tails!!! I swear, this dude was obsessed with pig tails, in the creepiest way possible. Then he tells me how I need to bend over just a little more, touch my hair a little bit, purposely drop silverware, and when I'm pregnant and serving just slip off the wedding ring to get sympathy for being a single mom. Not to mention flirting with old and married men, but not letting the women suspect.

He explains that he's been in the restaraunt business his whole life, and that is how it's done.
I feel really uncomfortable. REALLY. And I somehow say I couldn't do that, I wouldn't, I'm not that hot. I don't know, but then my sweet friend Tina reassures that I am smokin hot. Then the leaving friend with all the wisdom, and his already naturally booming voice begins yelling "You are beautiful, don't ever let anyone ever tell you differently. From the first day, you and Mal, oh boy! You didn't know that?!.... YOU ARE ******* BANGIN' HOTT! YOU ARE ******* BANGIN' HOTT!" the last phrase repeated at least five times more. Then I sarcastically say "Could you please add a little more emphasis to that?".
Never. ever. ever. Be sarcastic with a drunk.
He sets down his beer, wraps his arms around my waist, picks me up, and shakes me. Literally shakes me. This man is trying to jump with me pressed (involuntarily) to his body!!! Not cool!!
After setting me down, he continues with how me and another young female server just really work those tight a** pants, and how every time we come walking n the kitchen ALL the guys on the line just...... and that is when the other guys put a stop to him.
I am trying to play this all off as graciously as possibly, going into passive mode where nothing anybody does or says has any effect on me.
I leave his presence. Then he comes up behind me and pretends to smack me in the rear, but actually brushing me in the process. I walk away some more.

At the same BBQ, I go on my friend's (who is actually my friend) shoulders, and then some other drunk man smacks my butt. I kicked him, don't worry.

Result: I only begin to resolve to never be around a drunk man again, I decide I need new pants, and I have a sudden uneasy feeling every time I walk into the kitchen. And I lost any sense of security I may have felt around certain men. And I gained a tangible sense of relief that the wise guy was leaving, and I have not missed him since. That experience totally threw off my self image. ugh. Let the reconstruction begin.