I started off with today's prompt, which was to tell a story as a series of letters, or tweets, or similar installments, all in the first person. But I ended up using my tarot deck again. I drew three cards for the beginning, middle and end of the story.
And here it is.
And here it is.
I almost did it the summer I turned twenty-one.
It started off as a routine Friday night at the buffet-style restaurant where I worked. The food was nothing special, but it would fill you up without emptying your wallet. The big attraction was the improv show, featuring a manic group of theater majors from area colleges. I remember a few of them by name, the ones I thought might make it big someday. But It's a sure thing none of them remember me -- the waitress uniform and hairnets probably made a bigger impression than I did.
But there was that one moment when I almost came out from behind the dessert table and became -- a star. The adorable blonde guy had asked the audience for prompts for the next sketch, and someone yelled "a waitress"! His eyes scanned the room and caught me -- "You!! Come on!"
In a flash, I imagined myself whipping off my hairnet and letting my long hair cascade down my back, unbuttoning the top two or three buttons of my polyester uniform, and wowing them with my version of "Let me entertain you" (The one I had been practicing in the shower since I was ten.)
But then the old me took over. I shook my head, stepped back, and stammered, "I-I-I can't".
But I almost did.
It started off as a routine Friday night at the buffet-style restaurant where I worked. The food was nothing special, but it would fill you up without emptying your wallet. The big attraction was the improv show, featuring a manic group of theater majors from area colleges. I remember a few of them by name, the ones I thought might make it big someday. But It's a sure thing none of them remember me -- the waitress uniform and hairnets probably made a bigger impression than I did.
But there was that one moment when I almost came out from behind the dessert table and became -- a star. The adorable blonde guy had asked the audience for prompts for the next sketch, and someone yelled "a waitress"! His eyes scanned the room and caught me -- "You!! Come on!"
In a flash, I imagined myself whipping off my hairnet and letting my long hair cascade down my back, unbuttoning the top two or three buttons of my polyester uniform, and wowing them with my version of "Let me entertain you" (The one I had been practicing in the shower since I was ten.)
But then the old me took over. I shook my head, stepped back, and stammered, "I-I-I can't".
But I almost did.
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