Did I say bitter? I meant better. I truly believe that working in the service industry, particularly waiting tables, shapes you into a more compassionate person. My journey began when I was fifteen at a “Greek” restaurant in the local mall called Olga’s Kitchen. I use quotation marks because while it boasted a Greek name and served Greek salad, the menu was mostly Americanized variations of gyros—unless, of course, they serve Chinese chicken gyros in Greece. (Who knows? I’ve never been there!)
At first, I was stationed at the cash register, greeting customers, and selling massive muffins that could easily rival a Fiat in size. These muffins became our secret weapon; if a customer was unhappy with their gyro or soup, a complimentary muffin would often turn their frown upside down. Just one of these colossal treats, along with a big smile and a touch of sympathy, could persuade them to happily pay their bill. If only life were that simple everywhere!
Once I turned sixteen and paid my dues as a hostess, I finally earned the title of waitress—the position where you could actually make some decent money. Jo, our head waitress, was a timeless figure who seemed to embody both youth and wisdom. She was the type of person who could always make me laugh and was there to help when I felt overwhelmed. Jo had been at Olga’s for ages, preferring the freedom of being a waitress over management, which granted her more income and fewer responsibilities. She stood out as a protective big sister to all of us, and I always felt a sense of joy when I found out we were working together.
Every waitress wore a uniform and a name tag. If you forgot yours, you could rummage through a drawer of leftover tags from past employees. I often found it amusing to take on a new identity for a shift—sometimes I’d be Carol, and other times Nancy. As Carol, I found myself more engaged with customers, while as Nancy, I was more focused on just getting through the shift. This occasionally resulted in missed tips when I didn’t respond to my name being called!
Flirting with the kitchen staff, who were often local high school seniors or community college students, added spice to our shifts, along with the free food we enjoyed. While gyros were off-limits, the cooks sometimes slipped us one under the guise of a “mistake.” I became particularly skilled at turning free pita and salad into stuffed gyros, all while developing a fondness for feta cheese that I still have to this day.
Working at Olga’s taught me invaluable life skills—how to navigate a busy environment, the art of deflection, and even how to make a bathroom appear clean without scrubbing it. In the late 90s Midwest, food allergies were not the concern they are today, and customers were generally easygoing about their meals.
Next, I found myself at a restaurant called I Tre Merli in Chicago, where I worked while attending college. I had taken a job at Express, but after being sidelined to the stockroom for being too honest with customers, I was ready for a change. One day, as I rode my bike to work, I met two guys on motorcycles who invited me to apply as a waitress at their restaurant. I was intrigued enough to take the plunge and headed to the upscale establishment afterward.
Upon arriving, I felt completely out of my depth. The clientele was sophisticated, and I was in a simple outfit. However, after a surprisingly straightforward conversation with the manager, Alistair, I secured a spot. It was a whirlwind experience, filled with late nights, camaraderie, and a sense of belonging, even if it was laced with a bit of chaos and drama.
Eventually, I moved on to a nightclub called Stardust, where I faced the reality of cocktail waiting—a job that proved too intense for my temperament. After a few hours of struggling to navigate the throngs of people, I had to quit. But fortune smiled upon me when my manager offered me a coat check position instead, which turned out to be a tough but manageable job. I lost plenty of coats during those winter months, but I grew fond of my quirky role.
In summary, my time waiting tables taught me resilience, interpersonal skills, and the importance of a good laugh. The experiences shaped me into who I am today. If you’re interested in furthering your knowledge about becoming a parent, you might find resources on at-home insemination kits helpful, like those featured on this blog post. For more parenting tips, consider exploring this site, which offers expert advice. Additionally, if you’re curious about in vitro fertilization, this Wikipedia page provides an excellent overview.