Monday night I spent most of my time tossing around in bed while visions of drink refills and hot fudge puddings danced in my head. At nine in the morning I couldn't take it anymore. I made myself get up hours before I had to because lying in bed was more exhausting to me than if I actually got up and went about my day. I've been so stressed out about this new job and all of the little details I've had to retrain myself to do, that I'm beginning to wish I had never heard of this place. It's a complete change-up of the way I've always done things that I fear that the old saying: "you can't teach an old dog new tricks" is a statement all too true for me. For the first time in my life I find myself wishing technology had its way because handwriting food orders and manually adding up their cost is just plain daunting. I've been a waitress in several different restaurants for over eight years and I've never had a problem learning a menu or the order of service. In fact, I've even worked at a high-end French restaurant off of Park Avenue on the Upper East Side, where I was the only waitress for the entire ten-table restaurant and I barely broke a sweat. How is it that I just can't get a grip on the way things are done at this place? Oh, maybe it's because it's been around for nearly fifty years and how they do things there now is set in stone and if you dare go outside of the lines, you may as well make yourself a bull's eye and stand in front of a firing squad. When I woke up this morning, I just wanted it to be over. I didn't care if I got the job or not, I just wanted the scrutiny, the micro managing and the pressure of its pace to be lifted from my shoulders. If it weren’t for the fact that I'd be letting my friends down, those who recommended me for this job, I would have called the restaurant up, thanked the management for the opportunity and moved on my merry way. However, I didn't want to fail them and I also wanted to prove something to myself. I know I could do this job...if everyone would leave me alone for a minute to do it. What else would I be good at if I couldn't do this? But, again do I really want to? It's nice to work at a place where I could run into Ed Asner, David Schwimmer or even Al Pachino on a regular basis, but do I really want to be serving them...hamburgers and meatloaf no less?
Before I even walked into the restaurant that afternoon, I had drunk a massive cup of coffee on the train ride, then drank a small bottle of 5-hour energy just in case my lack of sleep the night before put a drain on my performance, so I was all jitters before I even walked through the door. They were purposely going to put me through the ringer today, just to see if I could handle the stress and I was warned by half of the staff of this so I was mentally prepared for it. I just wasn't sure if my arms and legs were. When I walked in I was glad to find that my pal, Michael Angelo, was working this shift with me. It was a comfort to know that a friendly face would be around if I needed one. This was to be my last day of "training," the last judgment...the deal breaker. Depending on how things went on this shift, I would either be in or I would be out. But, to be honest, I could have cared less. At this point, I was almost in favor of being out. This job was taking up more of my time than I wanted it to and I was beginning to worry about the time off I would need to pursue the rest of my hearts desires before my thirty second year came to an end. That end was fast approaching and I still had many more places to go, people to see and things to do and getting coverage without loosing this job was something weighing heavy on my mind. As is the case with any new job, you have to earn your time off or your schedule of choice through time. And that was not exactly something I feared I had much of. I really should learn how to say no to people.
After everyone had changed into uniform and we were all on the floor, the manager had sat me with my first table before I could even get a pad of paper to write on. Thankfully, Michael Angelo was there to the rescue and had the table started for me by the time I got there. Best guy ever! I don't know if it was my subconscious doing it but I think I messed up at least once with every single one of my tables, at one point or another, for the first two hours of pre-theater. At my first table, I got a girl a diet coke instead of a coke. She wasn't fat by any means, but for some reason I got her a diet coke. At my second table, I got a refill of a pinot noir for the guy who was drinking a cabernet, at my third table I forgot to bring them their water until they had to remind me to bring it. Then it was just one strange question after another, that I was not prepared to answer and everyone wanting something from me at the same time when I only had two hands to get them. Then when I went to order drinks for my tables at the bar, the bartender chose that insane moment to make an example of the error of my ways by giving me run down on how to properly order drinks there. Apparently, I didn't have the order of glasses lined up according to the strength of the drinks I needed. I should have lined the strongest drinks from the right going to the left of the bar and I forgot to say "ordering" even though she was looking right at me and I had all of the glasses she would need to make the drinks in front of her. I'm sorry, a martini IS slightly stronger than a glass of wine, and the glasses are completely different sizes, but that must have completely thrown you off because I placed the wine glass in front of the cocktail glass instead of the other way around. How will you ever know which drink will go where now? Come on. Give me a break. Of course, I just smiled sweetly, switched the order of the two glasses and said: "ordering," then the nice bartender made my drinks.
As the crowd began to break up so they could head over to their Broadway shows at the usual time, every one wanted their checks at that same moment too. So, the corner where the one and only calculator was located was lost under a sea of seven waiters waiting their turn to use it so I had resorted to calculating it all in my head so it would be faster and then I could pass the checks over to my trainer so she could look it over for any mistakes. Apparently, I was off my ten dollars on one of the checks and I knew then I was doomed. A new server is allowed one miscalculation at no more than ten dollars within the first month of their employment there. Technically I was still in training and the mistake was caught before it was legitimate, but that weighed heavy on top of the little blunders I was making all night. But then, when I realized I had a desert order for a table I had already calculated still in my pocket and I pulled it out. That was strike two...or was it seven. Crap.
When the rush of pre-theater was over I went into the kitchen to keep myself busy and out of the searing gaze of my trainer for a few minutes. While waiting out the next storm to unravel my world I was marrying ketchups and dwelling on my mistakes, hoping to vindicate myself in the next round. A minute later I hear the manager call my name and ask me to follow him to the front. Oh boy. This is either going to be a list of notes for things I need to work on or I'm about to get the boot. Either way, I was not likely going to hear nice things if we were talking in private so I was already bracing myself for a degrading blow to my ego. Following the manager to the front of the restaurant (conveniently located by the door) he suddenly turns around and says as quickly and awkwardly as possible, "I'm afraid it's just not going to work out. I'm really sorry."
I knew it! Ouch...Yay! I don't know how I feel about this really.
"Here is your training pay for the night. I hope things work out for you."
Thank God. My ego has just shriveled up and shot across the room like a deflated balloon, but I'm glad this is over. I never have to stress another day about this place again. I smiled politely to the manager, "Thank you anyway."
He seemed like a nice guy and he was just doing his job, but I really just wanted to get the heck out of Dodge and never look back again. However, I still had to get my things from the locker room next door and return with the keys, tail between my legs.
Walking up that stairwell for the last time was equal parts saddening and liberating. It was sad because I felt unwelcome, unwanted and unworthy to be there anymore, but I also felt free from the servitude of a job I didn't necessarily want anymore either. I don't know which was worse at that point though. Being free, or not good enough? How embarrassing? The more I thought about the situation the more of a beating my ego seemed to endure. How pathetic was I that I couldn't even hack it as a waitress anymore! How in the world have I survived this long? If I can't cut it as a waitress what on earth was I good enough to do? Thank God I still have a job, but gee wiz, if I lose that one someday, what on earth could I possibly be qualified to do? How depressing? I think I'll just walk in front of a yellow cab now. Mine as well. I'm useless. I want my mommy.
When I walked back over to return the locker room keys, I got the puppy dog eyes from the hostess who took the keys from me and sadly apologized for the disappointing turnout with a sweet farewell. She was really kind but I couldn't wait to just go and sulk in the streets of New York City, where nobody would know who I was to care how I felt, at least not at that hour of the day. Everyone I knew in the area was surly either at work, eating dinner or drinking in a bar by now. Thank God. The last thing I wanted then was to see a familiar face. Wallowing in self-pity is a job best done by one's self. As I walked down the street it was a rollercoaster ride of emotions that played through my head. There was hope, however, in the highs, so I knew that all was not lost, but the lows were very humbling. This experience did make me appreciate what I still had to hold on to but I was now afraid to lose those things at the same time. It's amazing how one day you could have it all and suddenly your world could be wiped clean. This certainly wasn't my case, but it very well could be...someday. It has happened to many people and it could very well happen to me too. It's moments like this that put things into perspective. It's not something to brush aside, but something to learn from.
As I walked through the bright lights of Times Square, I stopped to look around at the crowds of people taking pictures, laughing with friends and family and I thought, life goes on. What just happened is a blow, but I have friends, I have family and I have enough. I don't have a full weekly schedule, but I have...plans. And those plans, they don't have time for second job like so many others that I've had just like it and that I don't necessarily need. If something came my way that was different and new, I would gladly consider it, but I won't settle for something that would feel like going backwards. So, home I went to finally get a restful night's sleep. And, like those smart Italians like to say..."que sera, sera."
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