In fiction writing (novels, movies, etc) there's this phrase "Willing Suspension of Disbelief."
Maybe you've heard of it, maybe you haven't, but it's a philosophy you subscribe to, whether you know it or not.
It's the subconscious price of admission you routinely pay to almost every story, by turning off the part your brain that would normally make you say "No wayyyyyy!" and thus, not be able to enjoy the story.
Willing suspension of disbelief means that you're okay getting into a story where - for example - a simple pair of glasses can completely disguise a guy to the whole world from being easily recognized as his alter-ego - even by the female reporter who has kissed both the public figure and the "secret identity" many times over during the history of the series.
To enjoy the story, you willingly suspend your natural inclination to dis-believe that such a "plot device" is remotely possible. I.E., you DON'T reflexively say "I call bulls---!" every time Gilligan wears the same clean outfit on every episode, or even notice that Bart and Maggie Simpson haven't aged in twenty years. You do it all the time really - like when you're watching a movie where chipmunks or vegetables talk, or when you agree that space travel is even possible (nyuk, nyuk), for the sake of the story.
To enjoy the story, you willingly suspend your natural inclination to dis-believe that such a "plot device" is remotely possible. I.E., you DON'T reflexively say "I call bulls---!" every time Gilligan wears the same clean outfit on every episode, or even notice that Bart and Maggie Simpson haven't aged in twenty years. You do it all the time really - like when you're watching a movie where chipmunks or vegetables talk, or when you agree that space travel is even possible (nyuk, nyuk), for the sake of the story.
Hope you don't mind, but I'm going to ask you to give me "just a smidgeon" of that kind of love in this blog as well.
Not that I'm making things up of course, but it's just that I have a mental backlog of stories from my new job, where it seems that in playing around with the narrative in my mind, I've found I don't want to waste a lot of time saying "Okay, this happened to me 3 months ago, when...." Rather, since they're all so recent, I'm going to share a few stories over the early course of this blog as if they just happened to me. Like I did previously, with Training Day. But only those stories relating to my present job .. none of these will be more than 3 or 4 months old - okay?
Maybe I'm weird, but I'd feel guilty not disclosing this to you.
Okay, thanks. Here's a quickie example, which would probably fit in the "Bleep My Waiter says" department:
I'm waiting on these two older (than I) ladies from somewhere up north today on the patio. Whatever it is, they're totally digging me. Whether it's my charm, good looks, or just that they're IN FLORIDA (!!!) sipping on the high-end $15(!) margaritas I recommended, I don't know. But we're really "vibing" well. I'm in one of those very rare table-side moments where it seems I really can say or do nothing wrong.
They're splitting an appetizer, and get down to the last piece of "flat-bread" (a product that helps otherwise normal people enjoy consuming raw tuna). They go to break it in half, in a way that reminds me of breaking a Thanksgiving turkey wishbone. Just as they're breaking it, I reflexively say "Make a wish...!"
They snap it in two, and I look at the one that has the larger piece. I don't know where it came from, but I just randomly (like I used to do years ago, without much thought of the consequences of what I say) announce to her, "Nope. I'm still married."
They fall out laughing. I realize what I've said, get a grip on the fact that they love me for it, and silently thank God that I still have a job.
One says, "You are totally on your game today, aren't you?"
"She's right," I think to myself...
It's true. I'm in Florida, working on the patio, getting sun and laughs and making money too. There's just something about working here that brings out reserves I either never knew I had, or that I have somehow forgotten.
While I sorely miss bartending, for now, this waiting tables job is good for me.
I push my glasses a little further up my nose, and hope that nobody recognizes me.
Okay, thanks. Here's a quickie example, which would probably fit in the "Bleep My Waiter says" department:
I'm waiting on these two older (than I) ladies from somewhere up north today on the patio. Whatever it is, they're totally digging me. Whether it's my charm, good looks, or just that they're IN FLORIDA (!!!) sipping on the high-end $15(!) margaritas I recommended, I don't know. But we're really "vibing" well. I'm in one of those very rare table-side moments where it seems I really can say or do nothing wrong.
They're splitting an appetizer, and get down to the last piece of "flat-bread" (a product that helps otherwise normal people enjoy consuming raw tuna). They go to break it in half, in a way that reminds me of breaking a Thanksgiving turkey wishbone. Just as they're breaking it, I reflexively say "Make a wish...!"
They snap it in two, and I look at the one that has the larger piece. I don't know where it came from, but I just randomly (like I used to do years ago, without much thought of the consequences of what I say) announce to her, "Nope. I'm still married."
They fall out laughing. I realize what I've said, get a grip on the fact that they love me for it, and silently thank God that I still have a job.
One says, "You are totally on your game today, aren't you?"
"She's right," I think to myself...
It's true. I'm in Florida, working on the patio, getting sun and laughs and making money too. There's just something about working here that brings out reserves I either never knew I had, or that I have somehow forgotten.
While I sorely miss bartending, for now, this waiting tables job is good for me.
I push my glasses a little further up my nose, and hope that nobody recognizes me.
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