“I asked for salami, not pepperoni! How the HELL do you confuse salami for pepperoni?”
Suffering the preceding comment, smiling and apologizing is one of the joys of being a waiter. This past year I have been a server at a gourmet pizzeria, a Chinese bistro and an American “neighborhood-style” restaurant. Each had its own training system, tip-out schedule and scripted table greeting. After a year of mindlessly asking strangers if they would “care to start off with something to drink,” I’m out of patience.
Some people claim to work in restuarants because they love being with new people all day. I’m not one of them. I had just cancelled my meal plan at Leo’s and knew that I needed to ensure a food source. Thus began my career in hospitality as a host at the pizzeria. While monotonous and slightly emasculating, the job was not completely miserable. Customers would occasionally flirt with me in order to be moved up the wait-list. Despite the ego boost, the position only paid minimum wage. I pleaded with my manager to promote me to the rank of server and I thought he was doing me a favor when he did.
Serving was the most challenging task I’ve faced since Little League. Burdened by poor fine motor skills, a shaky sense of balance and chronic absentmindedness, I stumbled through the dining room with glasses shaking on the black plastic tray and plates wobbling off my arm. Orders were forgotten, glasses were broken and little children were crying because they hadn’t received their food—all because of me. Dreams of angry tables would disturb my sleep on nights after shifts.
After a dozen lunch rushes, however, I became more comfortable with the situation, and fewer plates were dropped. Even with my poor organizational skills, I was able to get everyone’s order to the kitchen and sometimes get it right. I could stand in front of a table without appearing frantic. For about a month, I actually enjoyed what I was doing.
Yet after another dozen lunches, comfort turned into monotony, and I became increasingly frustrated with the cycle of turning tables. As I was able to devote more face time to each guest, I began to feel more disdain for them. To be fair, most customers are more polite than the poor soul who suffered the pork-product confusion I mentioned earlier. But they have the annoying habit of asking for soft-drink refills, extra bread and Splenda packets. If a guest wants a straw with his water, I’m expected to stop what I’m doing and fetch him that straw. When I was less competent, I was just trying to get people a drink and a meal. Now I was expected to actually serve people. To top it off, I’m expected to smile.
This frustration developed right before I left the pizzeria, and I thought that a change of scenery might relieve my resentment toward the dining public. The Chinese bistro, a fine dining establishment with cloth napkins and an expensive wine list, was the polar opposite of my previous place of employment. Instead of providing relief, however, my irritation only inflated. The restaurant’s clientele believed that they should not need to ask for anything, but that the server would recognize any table deficiencies and satisfy them immediately. The third restaurant provided the worst experience of the three since they served breakfast. Not only was I experiencing morning crankiness, but eighty percent of the guests were feeling the same way. That job only lasted a month.
Many people suffer an addiction to the hospitality industry, unable to move on from the lifestyle that restaurants provide. The fast pace, flexible scheduling and constant proximity to alcohol create an unusual work environment and some people claim to be “trapped” inside of the routine. I know several servers who have had interesting office jobs or hold advanced degrees, but they still choose to wait tables. I can never understand how they cope with the thousands of annoying situations which they must suffer. That being said, I have recently returned to the pizzeria and resumed listening to scoldings over mistaken pizza toppings. I really would enjoy being a server, if it weren’t for all the service involved.
