Adventures in the Service Industry

Having been a writer/grad student/member of the under-employed at various points in my life, I've also spent my fair share of time waiting tables.

One of the many lessons I've learned as a former waitress is that being trained to wait tables is always far worse than actually waiting tables. At best, you end up doing the grunt work for whatever server you're shadowing for the shift. ("Yeah, if you sweep out the back and roll the next batch of silver, we should be good to go." There's no "we" when one of us keeps all the tips, and the other finishes out each shift in rubber gloves, my friend.) At worst, you have to role play waiting tables for your manager so that he can see how you'll perform with "Bad Guest #1" before allowing you on the floor.

This is a story about the latter. 

(First, I'd like to make it very, very clear that one of the activities I despise most is role-playing. (LARP-ers, please be assured that I'm not talking about your kind of role play. If I get to wear a wig and a corset, I'm in. Always.) And when I'm in an HR office and hear the words "why don't we role play a few scenarios?", my blood absolutely runs cold. If I wanted to pretend that I was talking to someone other than the person across the desk from me, I'd spend more time at the DMV. And I will not make believe I'm in a room with "Upset Donor Donna" just because your acting dream had to die.)

I was 23 or so and had just moved back to Birmingham from Washington, D.C. when I took a job waiting tables for an as-yet-unopened restaurant in a nearby suburb. (During my interview, I had to "sell" the manager a can of pencils that had been sitting on the table. It should have been my first sign.) Because the restaurant wasn't open, training was an eight-day activity that involved hour-long seminars with subjects like "refilling the sugar caddy" and "condiments 101," nightly tests and, of course, the aforementioned role play.

In the pretend world of restaurant role play, we also couldn't jump right in to waiting on a customer for the entire meal. If we were approved through the initial introduction, we could move on to drinks, then specials, and so on and so forth.

"Welcome to the other side of the island. Can I get you something to drink -- maybe a Bahama Mama or a Jamaica Me Crazy?" I said, each and every night.

And every time I walked away from my faux table, I'd feel a slight tug on my elbow and turn to see my manager standing behind me.

"Laurel, we're really going to need you to slow down a bit. Don't rush your island greeting."

"Yeah, Laurel, do you think you could pep it up a bit? Don't forget that you're an island ambassador, now. Really welcome your guests to our paradise." (If I'd paid better attention to those tests, rather than stealinganswers from the back of the book, I might be able to tell you/rememberwhat the "island" theme was all about. Seafood?)

"Someone forgot about beverage napkins."

"Laurel, do you know what it was that time?"

"That you Jamaica me crazy?" I thought, around the time of my fourth reprimand. "No, Lou," is what I said aloud.

"You walked away from the table before you were done talking. Eye contact and staying power are very important aspects of the server's tool box."

In four long, grueling days, I never made it past appetizers.

(Part 2 of this experience coming Friday ...)