Did I say bitter? I meant better. I genuinely believe that working in the service industry, particularly waiting tables, can enhance your character. My journey began at the tender age of fifteen at a so-called “Greek” fast-casual restaurant called Athenian Bistro, located in the local mall. The reason I used quotation marks around “Greek” is that, while it had a Greek name and served a Greek salad, the menu was mostly Americanized versions of gyros—unless, of course, they serve taco gyros in Greece! (Who knows? I’ve never traveled there, so I can’t confirm.)
I started out at the cash register, greeting customers, ringing them up, and showcasing these gigantic, mouthwatering muffins. Imagine the muffins in your mind—now multiply that image by three and give it a crown. Customers often came just for coffee and a muffin. No one in our town seemed to question the authenticity of our offerings. Those muffins were our secret weapon; they could easily pacify an unhappy customer. If someone complained about a poorly made gyro or lukewarm soup, all we had to do was deliver one of those muffin behemoths and say, “We’re so sorry that your meal wasn’t up to par. Here, enjoy breakfast on us tomorrow morning.” With a big, overly sympathetic smile, they would practically beg to pay their entire bill. A free muffin = a golden ticket; if only life were that straightforward everywhere else.
Once I turned sixteen and earned my stripes as a hostess and cashier, I was promoted to the highly sought-after position of waitress. This was where the real money was made. Jo, our head waitress, was an enigmatic character—she could have been anywhere from thirty to sixty, and she had a certain class about her. She always knew how to lift my spirits when I was overwhelmed or having a meltdown in the back. Jo had been there forever and seemed content. I think they once offered her a manager position, but she turned it down because, as a waitress, she made more money, had fewer responsibilities, and could take as many smoke breaks as she wanted. With her seniority, she didn’t have to tackle the more unpleasant tasks like mopping floors or cleaning restrooms. We all respected her too much for that. Whenever I showed up for my shift and saw Jo arriving, I knew I was in for a good day. She taught me the importance of hard work while reminding me to keep things light; after all, it was just Athenian Bistro, not the UN.
Each of us was outfitted in our spiffy polyester uniforms, complete with name tags. If someone forgot their name tag, there was a drawer filled with a hodgepodge of old tags from past employees to choose from. It was a thrill to adopt a new identity for the day. Some days I was a Rebecca, other days, a Sarah. My performance as a waitress significantly improved when I was a Rebecca compared to a Sarah. As Sarah, I was more focused on sneaking a smoke behind the restaurant than on customer service. But as Rebecca, I genuinely cared about the dining experience and cleanliness. However, wearing a different name tag had its downsides; when customers called out to “Rebecca,” I often wouldn’t notice and would walk right by. Unsurprisingly, my tips reflected that lapse in attention.
Other entertaining moments at Athenian Bistro included flirting with the kitchen staff, consisting mostly of high school seniors or local community college students, and enjoying free food. While we weren’t permitted to take home gyros, the cooks occasionally produced “mistaken” orders for us. We could, however, indulge in unlimited pita, salad, and soup. I cleverly crafted salad-stuffed gyros daily, dipping them in the free soup. To this day, I credit Athenian Bistro with my insatiable craving for feta cheese, which I’d never had until then.
Working at Athenian Bistro equipped me with valuable life skills. I learned how to sneak a smoke, make a restroom appear clean without actually cleaning it, and how to add more lettuce to a Greek salad when a customer sent it back due to “too much dressing.” It was a straightforward job, and thankfully, back in the late ’90s Midwest, food allergies weren’t a prominent issue. Most diners simply enjoyed their BBQ pork gyros and left happy.
My next adventure took me to a restaurant called Bella Notte in Chicago. As a college freshman, I worked at a clothing store in a nearby strip mall, which I despised. I had been benched from the sales floor for giving honest feedback to customers and was relegated to the stockroom to attach security tags to garments. One day, after a minor crisis involving a pile of ripped-off tags, I decided it was time for a change. After work, I met two charming guys on motorcycles who invited me to their restaurant, claiming they needed new waitstaff. Hating my current job, I seized the opportunity and rode my bike to Bella Notte.
Upon arrival, I was immediately struck by the upscale atmosphere filled with young professionals sipping wine in tailored attire. I felt utterly out of place in my casual attire. When I met the manager, Alistair, he looked at me and asked how old I was. After I replied “eighteen,” he dismissed my initial impression with a “No, you’re twenty-one. Come in tomorrow at 11:00 a.m.—you’ll start on lunches, and Wendy will train you.” Just like that, I found myself in a world I was unprepared for.
I quickly realized I was in over my head. I had no clue how to open a bottle of wine or navigate the menu. Everyone around me seemed older and more sophisticated. In retrospect, they were likely my age, but at the time, I felt like a child. Our team was tight-knit, pooling tips and partying together after shifts, creating a unique camaraderie. I felt like I had something special that my classmates didn’t—a vibrant life outside of school.
Eventually, the restaurant’s popularity waned, and I decided to shift my focus back to my studies. It took some time before I found another restaurant job, this time at a nightclub called Nightlife. Although I was initially hired as a cocktail waitress, it quickly proved too challenging for me to navigate the crowded dance floor. I soon transitioned to coat check, a role that, while difficult in its own right, suited me better. I learned to navigate a sea of coats while managing the occasional lost item, and somehow, I persevered.
In conclusion, my journey through the service industry has shaped my character and taught me invaluable life lessons. From navigating customer complaints with a smile to the camaraderie and chaos of the restaurant world, these experiences have made me a more resilient person. For anyone interested in exploring home insemination options, I recommend checking out this informative resource on intrauterine insemination.