Sergei

Tonight I waited on some Russian mobsters. This doesn't really matter. But I haven't posted anything in a while. And I finally got some real sleep. And I feel like I just woke up and realized that I've been writing in a blog for a few months. Months.

As one would expect, the Russian mobsters like their vodka. And they like their vodka served warm in these small straight up and down glasses that we don't have where I work. But that's ok. They'll drink their vodka out of the wrong kind of glasses, too (hey, just like me) which is good for them, and for me, I guess, as I'm supposed to care if my customers are happy and drinking and remaining on the premises. But, to be honest, I don't worry about it that much. I figure if I do my job, and I'm pleasant, and the vodka's warm and everything, it'll be ok.

I like the Russian mob. So much better than that other mob. But, lets face it, the Mafia is not really the Mafia anymore. Most of the mobsters I know aren't Italian. Most mobsters I know aren't even mobsters so much as they are supposed friends of mobsters, or supposed cousins of mobsters. But the Russian mob is Russian. Period. Criminals. Yes. Pure and simple. They're old-school. They've retained their integrity, which is really refreshing in this day and age.

I asked Sergei if I could work for him. He said no. Actually he said, you are working for me.. right now. He laughed as he said this. I saw that Sergei thinks he owns me like he owns so many people. So I laughed at this, too. Because he's wrong. I said, Sergei, you think you own me, don't you? He nodded. So I paused and said to him in a mock whisper, Sergei, you know, you don't own me.. and you never will. And I added something really smart-assed in Russian for his ears only, and then I smiled and lifted an eyebrow. And then, just to demonstrate how much Sergei doesn't own me, I (cleaned his ashtray, removed all the empty glasses off of his table, asked everyone if they were doing ok, and) walked away. Slowly away.

I have to say that sometimes when I'm bored or upset I tend to get myself into trouble.

I should explain that as I'm trying to write this thing about the Russian mob I'm listening to some internet radio which is currently playing a lot of Jefferson Airplane (don't you want somebody to love.. dooon't you need somebody to love.. you better find somebody to love..), and I'm sorry, the two just don't mix. Not really my choice of music, either. I don't remember how it came about that I'm listening to classic rock, but I don't want to stop and put on a CD or something, so I'm trying to write through this music, instead of stopping and switching. I'm working against this music. And it's not working.