“What got into you?” I ask when we finally leave the bar.
“I was having fun; it’s called flirting.”
“Did it work?” I ask in a tone that puts Kaitlyn on the defense.
“Did sitting and looking miserable work for you?”
“Touché.” She is completely right. “It’s just that I’m over the whole bar scene. Tonight was confirmation that I’m done with guys and bars. It’s obvious that I will never have a love life and that I just need to focus on work.”
“Okay, I understand. Just promise me that you won’t become one of those nasty, bitter women who yell at all the neighborhood kids playing outside.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll probably still be living with you and then you can keep me in check.”
“As if,” Kaitlyn replies with a laugh.
“OKAY, MARCUS, I’M READY,” I announce to him the following Monday.
“I’m glad to hear it. You’re ready for what?”
“To be set up, with your friend, or your fiancé’s friend.”
“You mean Gretchen’s friend from college? Oh, I’m sorry; you’re a little too late. He’s dating someone now.”
“What?”
“You snooze, you lose,” Marcus says without the slightest bit of sensitivity.
“That’s just so typical. If a guy decides that he wants to date someone, he can just snap his fingers, and voila, the girl of his dreams appears. But, no, not for us females; we have to wait by the phone, kiss a million frogs—”
“You’re kissing frogs?”
“You know what I mean, figure of speech.”
“Look, it will happen. Just be patient. You know what they say, things come along when you’re not looking for them.”
Marcus is right; I need to make certain that the thought of guys is not even a blip on my radar. I need to focus on a new goal, especially since my martial arts tactic has become muddied with Logan being in the class. Work could be my saving grace; I did just get promoted after all. Dating someone now would only be a distraction. Yes, now is the time to really focus on work and shine. Only I want something else—something to look forward to, something that will motivate me to get out of bed.
...
12
Nessie: Monster or Myth
Legend has it that the first sighting of the Loch Ness Monster occurred in 565 A.D. when the mysterious monster snatched up and ate a servant. It was not until the 1930s that reported sightings of the Loch Ness Monster became more frequent. Scientists now have a theory about this fabled creature that supposedly resides in the murky waters of Loch Ness. Is it possible that the Loch Ness Monster is simply a giant eel?
“WHAT IS THIS?” KAITLYN asks me when I plop down several brochures and magazines about Scotland.
“This is Scotland. Beautiful and magnificent Scotland. Look at the castles, the green countryside,” I implore.
“I see, it’s beautiful, but why are you showing this to me?”
“Because you, my friend, are going with me to Scotland.”
“What?”
“This summer, when your semester is over, I say we take a vacation. You know how we always talk about Scotland whenever we watch Outlander. We say that we want to go visit, but then we do nothing about getting there.”
Kaitlyn laughs cautiously as if she’s unsure if I am being serious.
“And how are we supposed to pay for this trip?” Kaitlyn asks.
“One step ahead of you,” I answer while I lay down two restaurant applications. “Mason Grill is hiring and we both have waitressing experience. We can work there part-time, maybe two or three shifts a week to save up.”
“I’m already working and trying to get my Master’s,” Kaitlyn argues.
“You’re working as a long-term substitute teacher. You already have the summer off. It’s not like we have stellar social lives on the weekends anyway; we can work then. Plus, I hear that you can eat for free right before or after your shift and get 50% off if you dine there outside of work.”
“My friend, Amy, from the agency works there too,” I continue, feeling the need to state my case before Kaitlyn second-guesses me. “She’s the one who told me they’re hiring. Just think about it . . . we can actually eat a meal that doesn’t involve nuking it in the microwave.”
“Fine,” Kaitlyn agrees. “But you didn’t have to make our lives sound so bad . . . Let me see those brochures again . . . Scotland, huh? It is beautiful . . . Wow! We’re going to Scotland.”
“Yep,” I say. “We’re going to Scotland.”
“To Scotland!” we toast.
Kaitlyn and I waste no time applying at Mason Grill and, with our previous waitressing experience, are hired on the spot. We do have to take on a few slower shifts like Tuesday nights, to which we agree as long as we are able to get Saturday night shifts as well.
The Saturday nights prove to be very lucrative, but that’s not the reason I enjoy working them. It isn’t even the fact that it takes my mind off my bleak dating life. No, my favorite part of working Saturday nights is when the restaurant staff goes out afterward for drinks to decompress.
We are always exhausted, with our feet throbbing, and our white uniform shirts covered with food. But we don’t care. Our purpose on those nights is to commiserate with each other—to talk about the cheap-tippers, diva-eaters, and complain-a-lots.
“You look mighty pretty,” Kaitlyn gushes at me. “Those marinara stains are to die for.”
“I know, right?” I laugh. “I paid big bucks for these stains or somebody else did.”
That is the beauty of these post-shift drinks: we can look like food-covered frumpy messes and yet have the best time. We almost feel sorry for everyone else. Looking around the bar, we take note of all the other females dolled-up in their club-hopping finest. They look so uncomfortable. Our loose-fitting khaki pants and rubber-soled shoes provide us nothing but comfort.
There is also another huge benefit of our post-shift outings—it is actually a strange phenomenon. We get hit on. Guys actually come up to us and offer to buy us drinks. The first time it happened we thought it was a fluke. We chalked it up to the guys’ beer goggles since it was later in the night.
But it happens almost every time we go out after our shifts. No matter how bad we look and—let’s be honest—smell, we are the ones the guys migrate to, leaving the pretty, showered girls in our dust.
It has become our joke. “It’s the food. They smell our food-covered clothes and they’re hungry.”
“I personally think it’s the marinara,” Kaitlyn surmises. “I told you how purrty you look in marinara.”
And that is how the “Marinara Theory” came to exist. We aren’t out to meet guys; we are just out, enjoying ourselves, and not caring about the people around us.
The Marinara Theory even begins to carry over to our personal lives as well—outside of our post-shift drinks. Suddenly it seems as if the heavens have opened up and populated the universe with available bachelors. Coming out of hiding, these guys make themselves known in the oddest of places—the dry cleaners, the post office, and even the gas station.