Secrets of a small-town waitress

Author's note: I wrote the following piece quite a while ago, after an extremely hectic evening while I was employed as a server/bartender. This was an off-the-cuff piece and the language is a little colorful, but I decided to post it as is:

What a night. I was up to my ass in people from the get-go. Phone ringing, people at the bar, dining room packed, cooks slammed, ten million extraneous bullshit details to take care of, and it just didn't stop. People coming into the dining room in the last twenty minutes of the night.....and oh my GOD, I can't stand these people, but of course you smile and be nice and let them treat you like dirt and like you are their (SLAVE) subhuman prop. They are not just obnoxious, they are skin-crawly creepy. The nightmare continues, the cooks curse, and everyone prepares to stay another hour or more past "closing time" because after the last guest is fed and gone, the rest of us get to clean it all up before we go home.

But then I have my favorites, which are few and shall not be named, and thank God for them, or I would be crazier than I already am. They are the people who are polite and considerate, who treat me like an actual human being, and god bless them, tip me well. For anyone who hasn't worked a server job, that might not seem so important. But for all the servers who live off their tips, a generous tip is the coinage that puts gas in a vehicle and pays the cable bill. Servers do NOT make minimum wage, in fact, in our little corner of heaven, we make under $4 an hour. Tips are considered part of our wages, and we are TAXED on them, too.

I am crazy about the people I work with, and for the most part, I love...and hate, but mostly love them. But after you have lived in this internecine, incestous environment for a while, it's like being in an asylum - who is the crazy one? Maybe it's you? Frankly, you have to be crazy to work in this environment.

We know each other's secrets. We carry on like deviants behind the closed door of the kitchen - our cooks are infamous for their foul-mouthed, sick and hilarious humor - waitresses whirl through the double doors grumbling and complaining and dodging each other, grabbing plates, insulting the cooks, and flying out, smiles plastered into place, food steaming on the heavy trays. The bartender fields phone calls, runs the cash register, mixes drinks, waits on the folks sitting at the bar, and assists with bussing tables and setting up diner's with menus when the server gets slammed.

The thing I love about my job is the constant sea of humanity that floats by me, and like the Rod Stewart song says, "every picture tells a story, don't it?" It's like soap opera, greek drama and Jerry Springer every night. It's exhausting, whether you are bored out of your mind, or so busy you go on autopilot for as long as it takes. No two days are the same. Some days, very rare days, it falls almost effortlessly into place. Other days, every where you turn, something has gone horribly, hysterically wrong, or taken a dive straight into the Twilight Zone. It takes someone adaptable and flexible to keep up the pace. Multi-tasking is required. Thinking on your feet is preferred. Other than that, what it takes is a gritty sense of humor and a bad attitude that you can harness and channel into the malestrom.

I find a lot of strength and humor in the people I work with. We take pride in a thankless job, pride in our CRAFT, which is what it is - a work of art, a ballet, a circus, a comedy. Every day, we work a tough job, and do a good job, and nobody notices. But we don't do it to get noticed, we do it because we enjoy a task done well. We know we are good. We notice when someone in the game drops the ball, or hits it out of the park. We are a band of misfit rebels, an insurgancy of smart asses who cater to other peoples' whims with a devotion to the process that is neither appreciated or earned by most of them.

For outsiders, it is incomprehensible. For insiders, it's the life and breath of our work. Unsung heroes are serving your food, cooking your food, pouring your drinks, fetching and carrrying, making the DINING EXPERIENCE a pleasurable one. The best of us make you feel that you are the only ones in the dining room, while giving that experience to 50-100 people at a time. It takes talent, and patience, and practice, and skill. Think about that the next time you enjoy a good meal in good company. And, just maybe, say a "thank you." You may not be noticing us, but we are certainly paying attention to you.