Today is the big day. My new career as a cocktail server begins. After hours upon hours of highly intensive training with skilled professionals who know the ins and outs of serving liquid libations, I am ready to have my first very own shift at the new job. I am freaking out. I dreamed about it the other night too. One of those horrible waiting tables dreams that all servers have. You know the one: where you have a whole giant restaurant as your station and every single table is wanting your attention. They all need drinks refilled and food orders to be taken and people want their checks. You have about twenty credit cards to ring in and you can’t get caught up at all and you wake up covered in sweat. I hate that. Because in real life if I get that far into the weeds, I just go to the bathroom, wash my face, make a phone call, take a deep breath and figure “who gives a fuck?” But in the dreams for some reason I actually care. Hmmm, weird. Hopefully during my first real shift all my training will come to the forefront and make me a server superstar.
I trained for three shifts. For no pay. It’s such a drag to be the trailer because you do all the dirty work while the server you follow gets half the workload and all the tips. The first night they threw me a twenty dollar bill and a glass of wine so I felt like it was a real score. Little do they know I would have done it for the wine alone. The job definitely has some real potential and can I just reiterate how satisfying it is to have no kitchen? Really really satisfying. The food is minimal and all we have to do is throw some over-priced dip on a plate, pop it in the microwave, serve it and ring it in. Cha ching!
Surely after a few days of serving potent potables, new stories will come my way that I shall pass on. Since this is a new job, I have tried my hardest to conceal the Bitchy Waiter that lies beneath the surface. But he is there. Lurking in the shadows of glass racks and giant containers of Goldfish, he patiently waits for the perfect moment to emerge. When will someone push the button? That button that makes him think, “this lady needs a fucking punch in the cunt.” Wish me luck. I trudge ahead to make life better for the world, one table at a time.