Rate: The Joys of serving tables

I try not to complain about people too much. I try not to let people really get under my skin. Granted, people are annoying, but it just seems like a waste of energy to let every other jack-ass make my blood boil. I mean, that’s a pointless peeve that can never be fixed. People are different—fine.

But with that little disclaimer over with, I’d like to take a few minutes of your time to share my serving (waitressing) experiences last night. My second customer of the night was a single woman, about 55-60 years of age. She was wearing a big, round hat, giant sunglasses and a yellow blouse resembling a Tommy Bahama display. She was clearly the type of woman who had been pampered all her life, and had never really stopped to wonder if maybe her personality could use some tweaking so she would appear less bitchy and snooty to the rest of the world. Here’s the conversation:

I walk up to her table and she’s on the phone, obviously just listening to her voicemail since she’s pressing buttons every few seconds.

She waves her finger up at me gesturing that if I just stand there a second she’ll be off the phone.

She points at a salad on the menu, looks up, looks down, moves her finger down the glossy list of entrees and then starts shaking her head.

She puts her finger up again, implying “just hold on one second!”

About two minutes pass with similar gestures while my facial expressions evolve from welcoming and polite, to bored, to anxious about my other tables, to disgusted and resentful. She finally orders a salad and a glass of wine without the slightest apology for wasting my time.

After the salad arrives I ask her how it is.

“Eh, well…ah… (followed by a few exaggerated facial expression and elaborate chewing) Honestly, it’s a bit too salty. But other then that it’s fine.”

“Um, okay! I’ll let the chef know! Sorry about that.” I walk away grimacing.

A few minutes later:

“How was everything?”

“Fine.”

“Would you like another glass of wine?”

“No”

“Okay, would you like anything else or shall I bring the check?”

“I really wish I could just try one slice of pizza. Oh I just wish I could try it, but that salad was just so big. Why was that salad so gigantic? I really wanted to try slice of pizza. Oh fine, I’ll try some pizza. I can just try a piece and then box it up.”

“Oh okay. I’ll grab you a menu.”

“NO! (very sternly) I want the Margarita!” With that tone she might have well said, “No you idiot little waitress who is so below my economic stature that you clearly couldn’t possibly have any ounce of intelligence or responsibility. Out of your long list of pizzsa that I could have been referring to, I want the Margarita. DUH.”

“You got it.”

A few minutes pass. She has tomato sauce all over her face.

“How’s the pizza?”

“Eh, well. ah….. it’s not very thin. You said it was thin. It’s not actually thin crust. “

“Oh well, it’s Artesian style. It’s a thin crust but it’s bubbly around the outside because that’s our style. Every pizzeria is different, but that’s how we make them.”

“Well okay. Ya…. But it’s not thin.”

“Sorry!”

I walk away and a few minutes pass.

“WHAT IS THIS?”

Her wine has a large clump of sediments at the bottom. She’s holding the win glass up forcefully near my face. I go on to explain to her why sediments happen and that it’s a completely natural occurrence in a bottle of wine.

“It’s disgusting. I have never, ever, seen that in a glass of wine. “

“I’m sorry ma’am. I’ll take it off your tab.”

A few minutes pass and I bring the check, thank God.

“You know when I think of thin crust I think of crust that’s very thin and crispy. This just wasn’t crispy. “

“I’m sorry ma’am that’s just how we make it here. Have a great night.”

I walk away, feeling the need to punch babies or puppies. Next time I’ll be sure to cater the menu to your specific palette, you uptight lunatic.

That was the first fiasco. The second was when I accidentally deleted some one’s payment. They had already left. I ended up having to pay thirty dollars out of my own wage.

The third frustration was when a guy from my boyfriend’s bike team arrived at the restaurant with his girlfriend.. They not only forgot my name but she insisted that she had met me at the Christmas party three months ago—which was true, but we had met, conversed, and hung out about six times since then.  I see these people almost every weekend. I couldn’t believe it.

So it was a frustrating night. But that’s fine. We have our good nights and we have our bad nights. Stuff happens. Luckily, the night offered enough frustration for me to desperately crave a post-work run, and then pursue an evening of solitude and self-pampering. I forgot how much being alone really energizes me. I read, write, relax and take time to filter my thoughts and compose what I know about myself to be true. I need nights like that more often.

Work Out Summary

Run: 35 minutes. Moderate pace.

Drills: 5 minutes

Strength: abs, triceps, calves, shoulders

Emotions/Thoughts/Concerns: Running at night is scary, and I have much to vivid of an imagination. I had convinced myself there was a rapist in every alley and dark street. I don’t intend to make a habit of nighttime running, at least not in this city.