Happy New Year! I can't believe another year is gone. I know, I know, that is the least original thing anyone could ever write on New Year's Day, but it really is true. This time last year I was just back from my long stint in Foreignland and was glowing with new love and a nice tan. And now, here I am, still working at the Restaurant and desperately wishing my pasty white skin would magically revert back to its former bronzed glory.

But I digress . . . New Year's Eve! How was it for everyone? I have heard mostly reports of quiet nights spent at home with rented DVDs and a bottle of wine- most peculiar for my generation, but everyone seemed to want to keep things simple this year. I myself slaved away at the Restaurant all night, serving copious amounts of alcohol and basking in the generosity of my ruddy-faced patrons. Yes, readers, your writer enjoyed her New Year's Eve at work! Most of the people I waited on were happy as larry and were more than willing to expend large amounts of money in exchange for maintaining a nice buzz and efficient (and sparklingly witty, I might add) service.

The only low point of the night came when I was getting a first round of drinks for my last large (and unfortunately underage) party of the night. I had started the night off in a pair of ridiculously sexy heels, and enjoyed strutting my stuff for at least a good twenty minutes before I realized that slippery restaurant floors and sex kitten heels do not mix. After my third near-disaster, I sacrificed fashion and donned a pair of sensible ballet flats, silenty bemoaning my new look while simultaneously enjoying my much more confident negotiation of the wait station floor.

By the time I was preparing said drinks for my final party, I had been traipsing around in my flats for seven and a half hours. Having arranged the four large waters and five large iced teas on my tray (did I mention that this group were all under 18?!), I stepped around the corner of the wait station and promptly landed, hip down, on the tile floor. At this point I was covered in cold water, sticky iced tea, and shattered glass, and I was bleeding from several scrapes and glass wounds on my legs and feet.

Several staff rushed toward me, asking if I was okay, grabbing glass from the floor, offering to remake the drinks and to help me up. Now, readers, what do you think was going through my mind? One thought, and one thought alone: Standupandpullyourskirtdownstandupandpullyourskirtdownstandupandpull . . .

Yes. It really is just how you are imagining it. I lay on the floor, soaking wet and bleeding, in full view of a full restaurant of distinguished guests, with my beautiful New Year's Eve skirt around my waist and my stupid sensible ballet flats full of sweet tea.

Oh yes, New Year's Eve 2006 was certainly one for the books! But have no fear, for after I got cleaned up and my face returned to its normal (very) white color, we staff self-indulgently took five minutes and ignored our guests, ringing in the New Year with champagne and singing and the pleasure of each other's company. Even though we were all working, there is no substitute for the company of good friends, and it really was a night to remember- even the memory of my wounded pride and physical trauma is fading already!

Of course, the fact that my manager graciously bought me a few glasses of wine after closing may have something to do with that!

Happy New Year to one and all.