Back to Basics

Waiting tables again

I spent the late half of the summer looking for a new job, but as fate would have it, my job laid me off in November. Right before that Christmas bonus too, man. I, of course, had a moment of panic. That steady paycheck, those benefits, those were gone now. And all those jobs I applied to in the summer, I didn’t even get an interview.  But if I’m being honest, woven into all these realistic concerns was an overwhelming feeling of, well, relief.

That job was cushy, that’s why I kept it. I worked from home. I worked on my magazine in between projects. In the morning, I worked on my novel until the first email from my boss rolled in. I snuck off to the gym, answering emails in between leg press sets. Most of the work was easy like spreadsheets, emails and scheduling. But I wasn’t interested in the work and my title required me to have some level of enthusiasm. I faked it of course, but it’s hard to keep that up. When they laid me off, (I didn’t have the appropriate qualifications for the grant we just were awarded) I couldn’t say I blamed them. Luckily for me, I had held on to my waitressing job at a country club for the last four years. I worked mostly Friday nights for some extra cash. After I got laid off, I asked my restaurant boss if he would give me some extra shifts. We close from Christmas to St. Patrick’s Day (I live in New England) but we are able to collect for the few months we have off. Which brings me to today.

I’m not going to look for another job. I will keep writing and managing my magazine and writing some more. I’m going back to waiting tables as my main source of income, which brings up a lot of feelings.  

Lots of people don’t consider waiting tables a “real job.” God, I hate that. To me a job is something that gives you money in exchange for your labor in whatever way, shape or form that comes in. Restaurant work is often seen as temporary, something you do until you become something real. For a long time, I also agreed with that. During college and the year after graduating, I worked at a different country club, also waiting tables. The thing about country clubs is that the people who come in, the members, they want to get to know you. They ask about your job, your boyfriend, your family, what you do when you aren’t working. And I mean, you could lie, but we don’t because sometimes its fun to know everyone. To have that comradery, that back and forth. (That is of course depending on the person. There are many country club members I wish I didn’t know and never had to see again.)

So often, in those college years, people asked me what I planned to do next, how long I would stay there because they assumed I wouldn’t stay. It’s not an unreasonable question but it implies that this profession isn’t real. But it feels very real. It feels a lot like hard work. Tired feet, sore calves, tight forearms from balancing martinis on cocktail trays, the weight of thick dinner plates balancing on your shoulder, the knot in your neck afterwards. You are multi-tasking, staying organized, practicing clear communication. You are a decision maker, a self-motivator. You are a little machine buzzing around the room making sure everything is going as planned. You, sometimes, are a little bit of entertainment. You are many things at once, and it’s very real.

The funny thing is, I’m really good at waitressing. My boss and coworkers joke about how they can give me the whole dining room and I can do it, no sweat. 10 or so tables, yeah I’ve been known to handle that. “Kailey’s here,” they say as we lean over the packed rezzy book.  “So, we can handle this.”

In the summer, we get absolutely slammed, the bar, the deck, the dining room, golfers and their wives are everywhere. On those nights, everything moves quickly. I go from standing by the POS system, munching on bar snacks, walking in and out of the swinging doors to say dumb shit to the kitchen crew to all of a sudden, having four tables, a fifth about to be seated. The kitchen’s buzzing me, my food is up. My drink orders are melting in frosted glasses at the bar. Someone needs more bread, another dropped their fork and needs another and the kitchen is still buzz, “get these plate out of the window!”

The night becomes a blur of beer bottles, salad plates, chicken parm smeared across my apron, red wine, blue cheese stuff olives in martinis, more beer, more wine, chocolate lava cake for dessert, Baileys on the rocks.  Sometimes I think of it as a flow state. I’m not even aware that I’m thinking or moving, I just am. And you know what? At the end of the night, when all my tables are happy and the kitchen didn’t yell at me and all my orders came out right and I didn’t break a dish and my apron’s full of cash, it feels really good. I feel accomplished. I feel like I’m good at something. And, come on, those feeling are few and far between.

But of course, not every night is like this. Sometimes it’s a slog and I can’t wait to get out of there. Sometimes I find every request exhausting, every conversation forced and robotic, my cheeks throbbing for all that smiling. Sometimes I don’t think I want to do this much longer.  

So, when I decided at 32 to resume my waitressing status, for a second, I felt bad about myself. Here you go again, directionless, relying on tips. What have you even been doing for the last ten years that here you are now, back where you started?

But that’s not true.

I am far from directionless.

Is it a coincidence that a country club is the setting of my novel? You know that project, that obsession I’ve been working on for almost 3 years. Or that out of the four short stories I wrote recently, three are set in restaurants/bars. So basically, every day I go to work, its research. It’s a bit of conversation I jot down in my notes app. It’s being reminded of the details that my draft is missing. That doesn’t sound directionless, that almost sounds like a plan. (Or divine intervention??)

So, I’m rolling with it. I’m giving myself this year to write, write, write. And when I need money I’ll serve, serve, serve and maybe by the end of 2023 I’ll have stories published and a novel finished and a magazine that’s popular and rent paid and an even fuller savings account.

My “real” job is the writing and always had been even when I didn’t know it. I’m still trying to know it, to comprehend it fully.  

And so, this blog. You will get restaurant stories (God, I have so many) and thoughts on creativity, the writing life, all that good stuff. A little bit of me on the internet untangling this creative life and working on getting out of the weeds.