Waitressing Made Me A Cynic

Waitressing made me a cynic.

It wasn't clear for a while, what with that first love stuff, starting to drink, being exposed to drugs, learning about the lovely-yet unfortunately often, awkward- world of sex, and the eventual plummet into financial independence. (Minus my cell phone bill. Who quits a family plan? Plus, if I can stay on their health insurance until 26, you better believe that cell phone is just as vital as a yearly physical). I've digressed. What else is new?

Waitressing made me see myself as the world sees me; thus, cynical.

I have a pretty face so I must be trying to act or model or marry a rich guy. I apparently have a confusing look so my lack of exotic background is a letdown. BAHSTON born and raised. I love Boston so I must be down to earth, but also an asshole. I don't let just any guy have my phone number so I'm stuck up.  I get caught up in unexpected romance and I'm being too easy. Waitressing is a social environment. Your customers talk and your coworkers talk. And they talk to you, too. I'm wise beyond my years one day and a ditz the next. They will tell you TO YOUR FACE. The people who you grew up with tend to hold their tongues because people in small worlds also live in glass houses. I realized I was starting to embody these roles because it was easier to manipulate these projections than to complicate situations by being myself.

Waitressing suffocated my spirit.

How did I find out, you may wonder? Well, I quit. I did. I made the decision to end the torture of my experience in the restaurant industry and suddenly I was able to unload baggage I didn't even know I was carrying around. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of fine customers and even finer staffs, but put the downsides of each together and you never catch a break. The human spirit needs to carry momentum and those bad days are trying.

Waitressing made me dead inside.

You're either too good or not good enough. I've had my share of poor days when my mind is off and I can't help the butterfingers. (Not the candy- I drop stuff, I'm what they call "a klutz").  I stick with "butterfingers" because my grandfather used it and it feels less accusatory.  I keep it around to lighten the tension. But there is always tension in a restaurant and even old faithfuls like "butterfingers" won't help you when you have a bad table and an overwhelmed boss.

Waitressing made me realize it's not always worth burying yourself to do "the nice thing."

On a bad day, you huff and puff while you poor 8 different drinks at once. If you didn't know, we waitresses can do magic. We can turn 2 hands into 8 because we're efficient in body. It's our job. Sometimes we "experienced servers" offer our extra hands, knowing the value of a proper follow or urgent restock. But, when the managers refuse to award excellent attitudes despite poor circumstance, those huffs and puffs start to blow the house down. It's not news that in combination with any business finding financial success, it must also maintain success within its walls. Motivate. Challenge. Reward. Discipline. Compromise. It's how we humans train our kids to learn and it's how businesses are supposed to train their employees to perform.

Waitressing showed me the fine line between loyalty and foolishness.

It's important to recognize when you SHOULD be recognized. Most people discover from their first day at school, first stint with summer camp and first relationship that there is a grace period at the beginning of new experiences in which you observe the dynamic of the new environment before exposing yourself and risking offense or unbalance. Well, most people also observe a period of pride when they nestle into their niche, find their footing, know who their friends are, etc. What too many people do not recognize is when they're being abused. It's easier to identify in school because it is usually pushing and shoving, stealing or vandalism maybe even some organized vendettas. In relationships it can be a little harder cause that love crap gets in the way of your self worth vs. your investment. Part of love, as we learn, is compromise. What are you willing to compromise for the good of the union? That is when I realized: when did I start treating my plan f job as a struggling relationship?

Waitressing and I weren't happy together. So I gave him his.

It wasn't sex, drugs, alcohol, school or love that gave me confidence in where my center really lies. It was waitressing. A job. A career for some, and good for them. It's easy money when it's easy. But on days when moms let their children stomp popcorn on the restaurant floor, a couple is disappointed with every wine, a married regular gets wasted and tries to kiss you, a manager fails to keep the restaurant stocked, an owner fails to recognize the nature of his establishment and therefore, insults his customers, and it all somehow falls on you. That. is. not. okay. with. me.

Waitressing was by far my worst relationship to date.

I've been cheated on and not know about it. I've been cheated with and not known about it. Men have made me feel used, unappreciated, objectified and resented. One day I'm praised, the next I'm to blame. But it wasn't until I quit waitressing that I realized how mangled I'd become. It had my holidays, my weekends, my sleep schedule and my diet. I had to forfeit my natural reactions and my dignity to keep the peace with customers who pushed the limits and coworkers who developed their own rules under a chaotic regime. It was the apocalypse dragged out for the 8 years that are supposed to be "the best years of my life." Never again. 

Waitressing made me a cynic, but I came back for the win.