May 23, 2013 § 2 Comments
I am a horrifically bad server, maybe even the worst ever.
One Chicago Summer I got a job at a very popular bar directly across from the Cubs stadium because I thought taking the Summer to kickback at an easy breezy job sounded awesome. A lot of things sound awesome. But the reality fell very short of that. Although I did learn a lot about myself. Like the fact I have a very limited skill set. A skill set which does not include the majority of things required to be a good server.
If you need proof of how impressively bad I was then you should take into consideration my tips. After tipping out the bartenders, the bussers and occasionally taking a cab home my earnings more often than not came up in the red. And if you know anything about business you know that making negative amounts of money is not ideal.
And now I would like to share with you some thoughts I had while working as a server which I’m going to go ahead and assume are similar to the thoughts most servers have at some point or another.
Dear Martini glass:
You suck at your one and only job, which is to contain liquid. By the time I sashayed through the crowd of drunk patrons while holding a tray of you above my head I would every time without fail arrive at my destination with a wet tray and only about a shot’s worth of liquid remaining in each glass. You fail at your life’s purpose.
P.S. Join a support group, work on yourself and come back to me when you are a sippy cup.
Dear Table I’m Ignoring:
There you are trying desperately to get my attention and there I am leaning up against the bar pretending I don’t see you. Oh I see you. I just know that I’ve already done enough to fuck myself out of a tip so at this point in time you are dead to me. Let’s be civil about this. I’ll bring you your check, you’ll leave me a dollar (cause fair is fair) and we’ll both walk out of each other’s lives forever.
P.S. Don’t pretend that being ignored by a server is some kind of human rights issue.
Dear Drunk Guy:
To the naked eye it may look like I give a shit about what you are saying but the truth is I decided that I hated you the second you walked in the door. The only reason I’m smiling and nodding is because I’m afraid if I add anything to this conversation it will go on longer than it already has.
Oh good, you left me your number along with your shitty tip. I’ll be real sure to give you a call especially since you ate up all that time I could have been spending with tables who might have actually tipped me.
P.S. When you attempted to discreetly put your arm around my hip while asking me about the menu I made a mental note to do my best to over-serve you to the point of death.
Dear Manager Who Is Younger Than Me:
I know this is your job and all but you are taking yourself way to seriously. Go ahead look around, you see all those cute waitresses in the tight black shirts (our mandatory uniform). Well not one of them is ever going to sleep with you if you keep acting like a punk. Also, when you asked me if I could use my down time to wipe off some of the tables you started to smell like a victim to me.
P.S. I’m sorry I lied to you about having experience. I had no experience whatsoever. Don’t get me wrong I figured out what the fuck I was doing but only after I spent a good amount of time blindly poking the POS touch screen like a limp dick virgin.
Every day I left that bar I would think to myself, maybe tomorrow will be better. But that wasn’t the case and needless to say I didn’t last the whole Summer. By the end of it I was begging to get back to a 9 to 5. Any 9 to 5 would do as long as I wasn’t surrounded by yelling, screaming, crying assholes.
Now instead I am one of those yelling, screaming, crying assholes. Everything has come full circle.
To All The Servers Out There. You Deserve a Metal. Each And Every One Of You Are Saints: