The restaurant where I work is across Broadway from Lincoln Center, and the vast majority of the waitstaff are aspiring actors. A lot of our patrons like to ask their server if s/he is an actor, which annoys me because hey, maybe I’m just a server – is there something wrong with that? And two, did I ask you what you do? No. No, I did not.
Anyway, I’ve come up with the perfect response to that question, and this is how I hope it plays out:
Nice, but Tactless Old Lady: So, tell me, honey, are you really an actor?
Me (squatting down and resting my elbows on the table): You know, it’s a funny story about that. Years ago, when I was just a little girl in East Tennessee, my mother found herself in possession of a small amount of mad money. After careful consideration, she decided to spend that money on a trip to the Big Apple, where I had always wanted to go. We were here for four, glorious days, and on one of those days, we visited Lincoln Center, right across the street there. It was my wildest dream to one day attend Julliard, and then to sing at the Met. My Mom drew a picture of me standing in front of that fountain, and then we ate lunch at this very restaurant. I had the berries with mascarpone cheese. They tasted like hope.
(I stand, and smile at the distant past for a moment, lost in happy reminiscence. Then, glancing down at the sticky bussing tray in my hands, I am brought back to the present.)
Me (Cont’d): Well, that was years ago now. I never made it to Julliard. And I certainly never made it to the Met. I don’t sing anymore. But I did get a job in this very restaurant! So, every day, I can look out those big, front windows at that paradise across the street and remember…a little girl’s dreams.
(I pause for a moment, gazing out the large front windows that afford a view of Lincoln Center, then blink rapidly several times, and swallow.)
Me (Cont’d): I’ll be right back with your bloody Mary.
[Scene]
