Too Young to Retire?

Sometimes when I look back at old blog posts, I can't help but laugh at myself. I seriously question why I would write half the shit I do. So here I go again...

I'm 22 years old and I feel as though I'm too old to be a waitress. It's actually funny to say that considering I'm one of the youngest employees at my restaurant. But after waiting on people for a few years, it becomes exhausting. Some nights I go in wishing for it to be dead because I simply don't want to look at people nevermind wait on them.

Here's my favorite... Its always nice when I have a table with people who actually strike up a semi intellectual conversation with me. But when I respond and engage in an equally intellectual manner and they look at me with shocked expressions, I feel slightly insulted. They assume the only thing I can do is sling nachos and Budweisers to their table.

Example. With spring approaching, Mother Nautre has decided to bless us with some warm weather again. So as I discussed the weather with my table, I began to tell them about how I decided to sit outside that day and do some reading.

"Oh you like to read?" they asked with looks of astonishment. "Are you in school?"

Oh no, when I said I was reading outside, I meant I was flipping through a picture book.

Here's another good one.

When my tables think they have to tell me HOW to waitress, then I really get ticked. Honestly people, it's just waitressing. I know what to bring to the table when you order a steak and I know that a lime goes in a damn margarita. No need to further elaborate or write out instructions for me.

Then's there's the people that I swear come into just to taunt me. As I ran around the bar like a crazy woman tonight, trying to keep up with all of my straving, beer guzzling customers, I had this one duo who enjoyed keeping me at their table for at least five minutes at a time, every time I went over to them.

"Ummm, so Tiffanie.... what's in the clam chowder?"

Or...

"Oh Tiffanie, I think I need another drink. [as their martini glass is full in front of them] "What do you think I should have?" Now keep in mind that every one of my tables are full and this man has been watching me run around incessantly trying to keep up with them.

As I stare at his full drink, fighting back rude remarks, I simply count backwards from ten in my head and wait until my anger monkies subside before I open my mouth. Then he begins to spew out random drinks before finally noticing his glass and replying, "Oh wait! I don't need a drink. This one is still full."

Really, dude?

In the mean time, my other seven tables are angrily staring me down as I have now neglected them while I sat [actually stood] and wasted my time while this man simply wasted oxygen by opening his mouth for no reason... as usual.

OK, I'm done. I feel slightly better. I could probably write a book on all of the ups and downs of a restaurant, but I'd rather not.

Until then... come see me at work!