Deliberations of a Disgruntled Waitress

I'm not really disgruntled. And the politically correct term is actually 'server'. But somehow the title holds a certain attraction for me. Yeah, I'm not really disgruntled; just discolored, dismayed, dissatisfied and disillusioned with the romance that was once waiting tables.


Yes, romance. Part of me realized, when I first walked into that restaurant, that there was something about the hustle and bustle, the food grease, the crying babies and drunkards; there was something about it, and me, that belonged together. I was the artist, I was struggling. I was laid-off and still optimistic. I was the bright-eyed, recent college graduate who was joining ranks with Priscilla, who "found that her education and a dollar would buy her a bottle of Perrier." Sheer, TomRobbins-style romance. Kismet.

But three years, two restaurants and several permanently soiled garments later, with practically NO ART to speak of, I think I am......wait, no, not quite.....just about....yeah, finished. Done. (Did I mention my loan debt has also INCREASED, due to interest rates, and not decreased, as well?)

The funny thing is, many of my 20-something cohorts, the ones with the 9 to 5, approach me with varying tones of admiration and respect concerning my job. "Wow, I would love to just have money in my pocket," or "...you don't have to work until 11 a.m.? Geez!"  I want to remind them of my less than $200 a week salary, lack of health insurance (and I've been in the hospital twice in the last two years) and the varying types of abuse I suffer at the hands of customers and managers, but if I do, they don't seem to hear it.

If they do, looks of pity  will flit across their faces. And some version of  the"You do what you gotta do" speech is shared, occasionally accompanied by a conciliatory back pat.

I acknowledge that there is a lot of "if this, than that" feeling associated with my experiences.

If I made a lot of money, lots could be forgiven. Instead, I am broke and find myself surrounded by bad tippers and materialist co-workers who either have no ambition or are bitter, angry wannabe successfuls, like me. I could get into the subtle racisms, work politics and particular clientele that my current place of employment has, but not today. Too frustrating.

Bottom line is, the more I hate it, the more, ideally, it is supposed to motivate me to get that other job. Vraiment? We shall see.