Heather Goes Out

Some people from my floor were having dinner out last night for Nurses Week. Ofcourse, we had to buy our own meal. I was vacillating as to whether I wanted to go or not, until a friend (of whom I worked with) called me. We made the pact "I'll go if you go", so my plans for Thursday night were cemented. Oh joy.

We ate at Buca di Beppo on the Plaza...and it was really, really good, despite me having to sit by a nurse I absolutely can't stand. Lots of people had signed up on the list to go, but half of those people actually showed up.

After dinner, a small number of us sauntered over to George Bretts for after dinner drinks. Originally, I wasn't going to go, but then I thought about what I had to come home to, and changed my mind. There, we sat at table and talked about what most nurses talk about when they go out: work. There were some people-watching opportunities as the night went on, from the shaggy homeless guy who came in, to the obligatory drunk guys in the corner who were making asses of themselves. One kept staring at me. I successfully averted my gaze because all women know that when you make eye contact, a drunk man will take this as encouragement, and stagger over to your table where he will engage you in "clever witticisms" and "intellectual banter"....which consists of him laughing at his own jokes, spilling his drink on you, and talking so loudly that everyone in Cass County can hear him.

There was one girl there. She was fairly attractive from the neck down. Neck up, she had the biggest nose I had ever seen, and we guessed her home address was a tanning salon because her skin was so sun damaged, she looked like she could score some work on the side as a saddle.

We stayed there until about midnight. A couple other nurses decided to go elsewhere, I decided to call it a night and go home. That was enough people-watching for me.

I work tonight, and I hear it's hell. Yay.