The Serving Dance

There is a heated, noisy, jovial rhythm to the serving dance. The best servers (not me, not yet) dance, sing, thump backs, banter, spin trays in between throwing together drinks, making salads, grabbing breadrolls, slinging syrup and butter, and grabbing giant trays of plates of food all with smiles on our (company required) happy, smiling faces.

Details, details, details.

As a trainee and a brand-new server, I was serving wrong drinks, forgetting to put in orders, and freaking people out with my overly-serious intensity. I was all but sure that I was about to be fired. I was certain that I should be fired. Several tables walked out when they didn't get their food.

One reasonably expects that they are unlikely to return to the restaurant anytime soon.

But Lady Graymane (I'll call her--I'm going to use pseudonyms for those I mention) gave me some excellent advice and said "you have to start having more fun."

I had to smile--I was just grateful that they hadn't given up on me.

They said "Don't quit your day job," but I did anyway.

I left a well-paying, cushy salaried job at a top-20 software company (which I'll mention later, but the name most likely won't mean anything to you) after over 20 years as a computer programmer in various guises. I had done the programming thing and now it was time to take up my lifelong dream of writing...philosophy.

And other things...

So now I'm a waiter. I just finished my training at a well-known national restaurant chain I'll call PG13. No alcohol, but specials for children, proper behavior always. Not a night-club spot. The opposite of cool.

I haven't asked the general manager (hereinafter "Maestro") what the corporate policy is on blogs. I figured it was better not to and remain vague on some of the explicit details. I'll steer clear of copyrighted phrases and any names which are absolute dead giveaways. I'm not aiming at an expose here, and so far there aren't any behind-the-scenes-food-nightmares to report and I really don't expect any. The kitchen and food-prep areas are definitely not pretty but the restaurant is well run and the place is clean where and when it needs to be.

I took up waiting tables in hopes of making a living with an evening job while writing during the days. My decision was a 50-50 mixture of desperation and excitement; I had completely lost interest in programming and knew I was going to get myself fired (again) if I tried to stay with it. And after reaching a certain age I decided that either I was going to write or I was going to have to admit to myself that I was never going to attempt to accomplish what I have dreamed of for at least two decades.

So I'm "living the dream". Yeah, right. Spilling diet-cokes all over my uniform and dropping plates and sweating while remembering to smile and "enjoy your work more!"

I'm only complaining because too much positive stuff gets boring--so far I think I've made a good choice. It's just a bit rougher than I expected.

I mean, who would have thought that serving food could be mentally demanding?

I sure never did.