The Genius Waitress Part 2: Coffee Shop Sonnets

Weird when you realize that stuff strikes the same chord (pun deliciously intended) in you because it strikes the same chord in the collective unconscious in everyone. In thinking about my last post, and about contemporary odes to waitresses, I have loved very much a couple of songs over the years and it's never all come together until just now.

Here are the lyrics to "You", one of the most haunting songs off of Atmosphere's most recent album, When Life Gives You Lemons, You Paint That Shit Gold, (which is an incredible, soulful, intelligent mix of Twin Cities hip-hop beats and straight, honest poetry in the lyrics, I'll have you know).

"You love the people that love you
You hear the music they move to
You give your ode to the fall through
But you don't know you don't know you don't know you don't know

You love the people that love you
You hear the music they move to
You give your ode to the fall through
But you don't know you don't know you don't know you don't know you.

You just got off work, huh?
Another night feeling like the worst one
You didn't even count your tips yet,
But you can tell that it ain't no big step
I don't see why you so nice to customers
They're all fucks and lowlifes.
But don't fight, just keep the lip stiff
And get that money, it's the weekend shift.

But why they all gotta be freaks?
Wish they would just eat and leave
And keep they eyes to they selves, already insecure, don't need any help
And you can blame the pride that makes you hold your anger inside,
But deep down you wanna curse them all.
Fuck off asshole, jerkoff, dirtball.

You love the people that love you
You hear the music they move to
You give your ode to the fall through
But you don't know you don't know you don't know you don't know

You love the people that love you
You hear the music they move to
You give your ode to the fall through
But you don't know you don't know you don't know you don't know you

Now attitude check,
Still show up, you haven't quit yet,
And even when your meat gets sweet
They still treat you like a piece of meat. Huh.
Outrageous, each day this
clock tick-tock and you still a waitress

Trying to pay them student loans
And the lights and the phone and the food and the home,
And you ain't quite broke but you couldn't afford that place on your own.
Got a roommate, to split the rent with
Now you never feel independent.

And everything seems so hollow
‘Cause after work, where'd that smile go?
Better bring it back tomorrow.
Now, pick up the pace and you might make bar close.

Perfect, last call, then some.
Flirtin', sexual tension.
Surfin', through them men
‘Cause they all searching for that bent one
Or just one to bend, and “you look like you could be my friend
With a smile like that, I gotta flirt,
Girl, you just look like you got off work.”

You love the people that love you
You hear the music they move to
You give your ode to the fall through
But you don't know you don't know you don't know you don't know

You love the people that love you
You hear the music they move to
You give your ode to the fall through
But you don't know you don't know you don't know you don't know you."

And the other, an oldie but goodie, "Tom's Diner" by Suzanne Vega. You'd know it by the simple, haunting "doot do do do doot doo doo do" refrain if you heard it, believe me. We've done freestyle lyric riffs off it just for fun. But her lyrics are infinite, epic and so very simple. I just love coffee shop sonnets, I suppose:

I am sitting
In the morning
At the diner
On the corner

I am waiting
At the counter
For the man
To pour the coffee

And he fills it
Only halfway
And before
I even argue

He is looking
Out the window
At somebody
Coming in

"It is always
Nice to see you"
Says the man
Behind the counter

To the woman
Who has come in
She is shaking
Her umbrella

And I look
The other way
As they are kissing
Their hellos

I'm pretending
Not to see them
Instead
I pour the milk

I open
Up the paper
There's a story
Of an actor

Who had died
While he was drinking
It was no one
I had heard of

And I'm turning
To the horoscope
And looking
For the funnies

When I'm feeling
Someone watching me
And so
I raise my head

There's a woman
On the outside
Looking inside
Does she see me?

No she does not
Really see me
Cause she sees
Her own reflection

And I'm trying
Not to notice
That she's hitching
Up her skirt

And while she's
Straightening her stockings
Her hair
Has gotten wet

Oh, this rain
It will continue
Through the morning
As I'm listening

To the bells
Of the cathedral
I am thinking
Of your voice...

And of the midnight picnic
Once upon a time
Before the rain began...

I finish up my coffee
It's time to catch the train."

The Genius Waitress

Tom Robbins is without a doubt my favorite contemporary author. My dad gave me "Still Life with Woodpecker" for Christmas when I was about 18 or so, and since, I have read almost all of his novels, save one or two. Talk about goddess worship! This man understands and appreciates the strong, sexual, gypsy-like female protagonist like no other. I used to joke around that my parents raised me to be a "Tom Robbins female protagonist", encouraging my wacky, independent, quasi-evil gypsy magic side. Or maybe I was destined...

On a recent trip back to Chicago/home, my dad left me with "Wild Ducks Flying Backwards", a collection of his short writings we'd been talking about and he'd been meaning to lend me. It's travelogues and articles and short stories, and also tributes to stuff he thinks is laudable, more of his counter-cultural commentary side rather than spinning his own hippie-ass tales.

I believe in the power of coincidence. Books and words often come to me when I need them most. You could even say that words and language are the means by which I experience the divine. I'll pick up a book or glance at a newspaper or a random article and it perfectly encapsulates my situation or thought process. It completely illuminates the door behind which I feel stuck, and the words bring me the thoughts to open it. That, in some weird way, is God to me, if that's what we're calling it.

Anyways, this particular essay found me on my break at my job at the bakery and it was exactly what I needed:

"The Genius Waitress

Of the genius waitress, I now sing.

Of hidden knowledge, buried ambition, and secret sonnets scribbled on cocktail napkins; of aching arches, ranting cooks, condescending patrons, and eyes diverted from ancient Greece to ancient grease; of burns and pinches and savvy and spunk; of a uniquely American woman living a uniquely American compromise, I sing. I sing of the genius waitress.

Okay, okay, she's probably not really a genius. But she is well-educated. She has a degree in Sanskrit, ethnoastronomy, Icelandic musicology, or something equally valued in the contemporary marketplace. Even if she could find work in her chosen field, it wouldn't pay beans--so she slings them instead. (The genius waitress is not to be confused with the aspiring-actress waitress, so prevalent in Manhattan and Los Angeles and so different from her sister in temperament and I.Q.)

As a type, the genius waitress is sweet and sassy, funny and smart; young, underestimated, fatalistic, weary, cheery (not happy, cheerful: there's a difference and she understands it), a tad bohemian, often borderline alcoholic, frequently pretty (though her hair reeks of kitchen and bar); as independent as a cave bear (though ever hopeful of "true love") and, above all, genuine.

Covertly sentimental, she fusses over toddlers and old folks, yet only fear of unemployment prevents her from handing an obnoxious customer his testicles with his bill.

She doesn't mind a little good-natured flirting, and if you flirt with verve and wit, she may flirt back. Never, however, never try to impress her with your resume. Her tolerance for pretentious Yuppies ends with her shift, sometimes earlier. She reads men like a menu and always knows when she's being offered leftovers or an artificially inflated souffle.

Should you ever be lucky enough to be taken home by her to that studio apartment with the jerry-built bookshelves and Frida Kahlo posters, you will discover that whereas in the public dining room she is merely as proficient as she needs to be, in the private bedroom she is blue gourmet virtuoso. Five stars and counting! Afterward, you can discuss chaos theory or the triple aspects of the mother goddess in universal art forms--while you massage her swollen feet.

Eventually she leaves food service for graduate school or marriage, but unless she wins a grant or a fair divorce settlement, chances are she'll be back, a few years down the line, reciting the daily specials with her own special mixture of warmth and ennui.

Erudite emissary of eggs over easy, polymath purveyor of polenta and prawns, articulate angel of apple pie, the genius waitress is on duty right now in hundreds of U.S. restaurants, smile at the ready, sauce on the side. So brush up on your Schopenhauer, place your order--and tip, mister, tip. She deserves a break today.

Of her, I sing."
-Tom Robbins, Playboy, 1991

Thank. You. I officially have a relevant contemporary social archetype. The genius waitress is another contemporary example of the "sacred prostitute." The coffee girl, behind the espresso bar at the temple of energy and wit and warmth, ready to warmly smile and remind you that there is cheer and spunk left in this world. There are so many turns of phrase in this essay that chill my bones and cut to the core of my spirit, much like his novels have lit sparks inside my brain. And I LOVE that it was published in Playboy, the only magazine that openly worships women and publishes bold pieces like that. How incredibly validating it is, indeed.

It is sort of funny that I moved to Seattle, having no (conscious, adult) idea that he lives around here and writes about the area frequently. Rumor has it, he also shows up in "the city" periodically, and I have randomly hung out in La Conner, the Skagit Valley town he resides in. I have been to the same bars, have seen the same things and people. I feel like we're kindred spirits. In a non-Fatal Attraction/schizophrenic way, I wonder if I'll ever run into him in person. In the scheme of things, we're like, 1 degree of separation away. It's freaky, I feel like I'm gushing about my grad school professor or something. I'm not into older men, but I feel like if he wanted me to be his concubine/temporarily pampered muse-of-sorts, I would not say no. Just so we could hang out for awhile. The things that guy would do inside my particular head...

Ok, that's creepy, but seriously, Tom Robbins, what's up, and many many props to you. Call me.

Um, Like, Oh My Goddess!

I am really getting back into learning about goddess worship these days. I took a class or two in college and was really into the subject, incorporated some of it into my own personal philosophy, but haven't really done much about it recently. Until I found this awesome book and it seems to be exactly what I want to know about it all.

I'm not a militant feminist per se, and I think men are just super, thanks, but I've always been curious why fertility, femininity, and celebration of the life-giving capabilities of women is seemingly absent or scarce from any modern religious doctrine. I've always had a nagging sense that our "Judeo-Christian tradition based" society is really backwards when it comes to sexuality and its role in achieving spiritual enlightenment. We've all been made to fear our own sexuality, and in general punish or scorn the symbol of a "sexual" woman as temptress or whore. The "lusty" woman is a force of evil, and to be attracted to, or worse, participate in the sexual act with her is a source of intense collective male unconscious guilt. The old Eve eating the apple dilemma. And oh, that Mary Magdalene. Just sluts messin' shit up for everybody.

You know what? I think that blows. So I started investigating.

Turns out, before Christianity and the "Patriarchy" came around and f'ed stuff up (**did you know an estimated 6 to 9 million people, 85% of them women, were executed for "witchcraft" during the 15th-17th centuries? That's a friggin' holocaust, peeps!**), certain women had rights and were in fact allowed to be leaders, queens, run the goddess temples, etc. They were worshipped for their sacred sexuality, their beauty, and were considered the human embodiment of the goddess and symbols of love and fertility. They were known for their dance, their massage and healing touch, for giving advice and guidance. These women would dance at community celebrations for the harvest and blessing of the fertility of the land, their beauty and sensuality a symbol of the fruitfulness of the earth and its gifts to humanity. Check out this sexy re-enactment of the sacred prostitute's dance: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AcJIflaPEQk

Then she'd pick one lucky representative man of the village to participate in the "sexual act" with her as a symbolic ritual celebrating human love and creation, thus "re-activating" the ongoing creative cycle of the earth.

Academics and scholars of this stuff use the term for these women "the sacred prostitute" (not to be confused with the "profane prostitute", which also existed in ancient society--more on this later).

Here's some interesting movie clips from a documentary about the sacred prostitute. If you're at all familiar, tantra, the Kama Sutra, and all of these more commonly known sexual traditions play into the "sacred prostitute" mythology and practices. You've probably heard these women and the goddess they represent, too: Salome's "Dance of the Seven Veils" is based on the 'Welcoming Back' of Ishtar - Inanna- Isis. Also Known as Astarte, Ashtar, and Aphrodite among other names.

"Whether in public celebration or in the quiet privacy of her temple chamber, the sacred prostitute expressed her true feminine nature. Her beauty and sensuous body were not used in order to gain security, power, or possessions. She did not make love in order to obtain admiration or devotion from the man who came to her, for often she remained veiled and anonymous. She did not require a man to give her a sense of her own identity; rather she was rooted in her own womanliness. The laws of her feminine nature were harmonious with those of the goddess. Her raison d'etre was to worship the goddess in love-making, thereby bringing the goddess' love into the human sphere." -Nancy Qualls-Corbett, "The Sacred Prostitute: Eternal Aspect of the Feminine"

I like that. She doesn't want your money or your power or your soul or identity, she's got her own. She's just working to remind you that there is joy and beauty and fun and female moon goddess love out there. Turning the idea of "whore" upside down.

I am smitten with this subject. I kind of feel like it's my "great gig in the sky", my particular societal archetype. And once you google it, there's a whole crazy world out there about it!

I'll probably write more on this subject, but that's sort of an introduction to what I'm thinking about this whole thing.

There's so many crazy images to pick from, but here's a modern-day interpretation I like very much. I think it says something. What does this image evoke in you? I'm curious to hear what other people have to say on the subject, if anything?