song for a melancholy moment

The 40-Year-Old Waitress game that my coworker Sally used to play deserves its own blog entry.

In December, I was feeling rather melancholy--mostly due to a girl, who had allowed me to kiss her and crush out on her before she realized she wasn't into me. Such things happen. It was a Friday night and I had nothing to do, so I invited myself into Sally's car to go see our student art show. An hour later, I sat outside, smoking a cigarette and looking beaten-down. "I feel melancholy," I said. I think I was trying to look like this:
"You know what you're doing," Sally replied. "You're playing 40-Year-Old Divorced Waitress." Hmmmm? "Sure, I used to play that when I was a kid. I was a waitress, divorced, living alone, coming home to my empty apartment. I used to struggle at the door with my keys...that was important, the struggling and rattling with my keys...then I'd come in, take off my shoes, rub my feet. Smoke a cigarette. A fake one, like a crayon or something. And I'd feel sad about my lonely life."

"You played this as a kid?"

"I was about nine. Ten. I still play it sometimes. My friend will give me a call at night, and I'll answer the phone with a pathetic voice--'yeeees?'--and she'll say, 'You're playing 40-Year-Old Waitress again, aren't you?' She always catches me. So that's what you're doing."

We paused, while I smoked.

"When you're melancholy, I say revel in it! It's so freeing. Claim the moment."

Feeling faintly ridiculous now, I ditched the cigarette, and we walked back inside.

Sally gave me a burned CD for Xmas--Peggy Lee. She labeled it with a black permanent marker: Songs for a Melancholy Moment. Of course, for about a week after that, I was completely crushed out on Sally. I got over it when she started ordering me around the office again. I still play that CD, though. Revel in it!