Scenes From a Restaurant

I went to a local restaurant the other evening and placed a carryout order. I waited for my order at the counter while enjoying a cup of good stiff coffee – and being that they apparently had to run to Idaho to pick up my husband’s potato, I had the time and opportunity to do some extensive people watching. Mainly the restaurant staff.

It was a fairly busy evening, and there was a lot of hustling going on. With some of the staff anyway. And it was interesting to see the dividing lines.

The older waitresses were really moving. Racing in and out from behind the counter, dropping off orders and picking up plates to be taken to their hungry patrons. While they waited for straggling sides or an order of rolls, they’d help each other with getting condiments or arranging serving trays. They really knew what it took to make things run smoothly.

The younger wait staff was a different story. A clump of half a dozen high school girls congregated around the drink station, chatting about girly things. Occasionally one would wander in and stick an order ticket in the kitchen window, and then would go back to the clump and continue chirping. The older waitresses – the ones with kids to feed and bills to pay, continued their duties with synchronized efficiency.

A young waitress shuffled behind the counter with a clear plastic container of filthy water with a floating rag and said rather loudly, “what should I do with this dirty water?” The sight and very thought if the sloshing mud puddle in a pan so close to the food stations kind of creeped me out. Someone discreetly guided her to a sink where she could dispose of the water. One of the older waitresses looked at another and said under her breath in a mocking tone, gesturing with a wadded up paper placemat, “What do I do with this trash? Throw it out, what do you think?” They chuckled. So did I.

A manager burst through the saloon style doors and had a look around at the goings on. I thought for sure that would get things moving. But the young waitresses continued to chatter without the slightest bit of interest nor effort in assimilating. The manager asked the older waitresses how things were going and told the young ones that some tables needed bussed. A couple of them shuffled off listlessly and the rest continued talking. The manager disappeared back into the kitchen area again, apparently not concerned with the on-the-clock loiterfest.

I worked in the restaurant industry for years as first jobs and while I earned money for college. We worked hard, partly because our managers wouldn’t take any screwing around like that. But mostly we worked hard because that’s what you did. The duties sucked, but we took pride in them, and we had a good time despite it all. Above all we subscribed to the adage, "Many hands make light work". We all pulled our weight, we all helped each other out, and in turn made all our jobs easier. Witnessing the operations at my local restaurant was surreal based on my past work experience.

My potato was finally ready. My waitress (an older one) apologized profusely and offered me a complimentary slice of French silk pie for my troubles. The young waitresses continued talking and hanging out.

I went home, scratching my head.