Somewhere deep in the California desert sits the Pink Motel, an intentionally retro-style structure that has a Cadillac permanently parked in front that is painted the shade of pink normally only seen inside of a Crayola box or on the shelves of CVS this month if you happen to wander down the Peeps aisle. It is at this motel that the servers and bartenders of Sur arrive for their annual staff photoshoot.
I already said this last week, but I find the whole act of pretending that there’s a photoshoot for waitresses who work anywhere other than Hooters to be a completely laughable scenario, and I actually took some time today and took a little poll.
“Were you ever a server, hostess, or bartender?” I asked every person above the age of eighteen-years-old I found myself encountering. If the person answered in the affirmative, I asked if the place that had employed him or her had ever done an annual staff photoshoot, to which every person laughed except for one of my guy friends who peered at me closely and said, “This is really all about one of your recaps for one of those shows, isn’t it? You have to stop watching that sh*t.”
He’s got himself an excellent point.
But it turns out – in the most obvious swarm of results ever – that nobody who has had the distinction of waiting tables (me included) has ever participated in a fully-styled photoshoot for a restaurant, not even a friend of mine who used to be the hostess at Pastis, back when it was the coolest restaurant in all the land, according to people who lived in Nebraska and watched Sex and the City.
I guess I shouldn’t spend too much time caring about the fact that the set-up for this situation is so clearly producer-contrived; I should instead focus on how very much I loathe Jax, a loathing that manages to grow exponentially from one week to the next in a manner I once thought impossible. Speaking of Jax, he is very happy to be at the photoshoot. He likes being styled to resemble a greaser. And he enjoys preening for anybody holding a lens, including the cameraman who records him proudly declaring, “I look good. I’ve got the Botox going…” and I cannot stop myself from wondering just how much of that sh*t he has injected into his face over the years and what he will end up looking like at the age of fifty, and the vision that comes into my head when I allow my mind to veer to that dark place is one of a tee-shirt clad Jax whose arms are covered in tattooed sleeves completely made up of girls’ names, his Botoxed face frozen in a feline-looking smirk. It’s a rather terrifying image, and I genuinely fear that it will forever haunt my fragile psyche.
Did you notice that Kristen had a black eye in the scene where she was getting ready for the Sur party? It was never addressed, but very noticeable. Also, the Pink Motel is in Sun Valley – not really deep in the California desert. 😉
I did not notice the black eye. Wondering if the stripper did it…