I do not like carrying trays. I do not like it Sam I Am.

As most of you know, I took a job as the hostess at this borderline pretentious hipster restaurant in Lower Queen Anne, my rational being that it has a somewhat flexible schedule (so I can take on assisting gigs whenever they come up), it's not an office job, the pay is decent, and it's a connection to the food world, given I'm thinking I might be interested in food photography eventually. And I figured I'd make a pretty good hostess - I'm friendly, I'm helpful, I can schmooze when required, etc. One thing I didn't consider: I'm just about the clumsiest person alive. Grace and agility have never been my strong suits. So, when called upon to perform some basic backwaiting, I've discovered that 50% of the time I'm going to spill something. Usually just on myself, but occasionally on a guest - tonight being a particularly brilliant example, when I shattered two full glasses of champagne on the concrete floor, splattering a decent amount of the bubbly on this sweet older lady's coat. Thank goodness for kind people. As I'm blushing horribly and inches from breaking into tears, this lady just smiled and with her most beautiful British accent told me not to worry at all, that I was doing a fine job, and that, by the way, she loved my hair. Seriously, nice people make the world go 'round.