“So, why’d you leave?”
“Oh, I was mistaken for a drag queen and I got finger-diddled in a koi pond.”
“Do you consider yourself a team player?”
“Well, I do now.”
– MadTV, Trina goes for a job interview at IHOP

Tomorrow is my last day as a server, three years in the works. It’s the end of an era, really. Needing money badly after leaving my Masters program, I was hired by Mimi’s Cafe on July 13th, 2004 without any previous serving experience. I’ve mentioned before that the service industry is a bona fide sub-culture, and the amount of freedom it affords has been overwhelmingly beneficial to me as a person. At the time I began serving I had just come out of the closet and had only just begun exploring ideas beyond those of my conservative, religious upbringing; really, it has been in this industry that I’ve learned how to think for myself and formulate my own original viewpoints. However, I should point out that there are two sides to every coin. While I can’t say the industry has been completely horrible to me (I’ve managed to sock away close to $22,000 in the past 18 months), there are a number of rather poisonous elements to this line of work.

For example:

1.) It makes you a huge racist. Huge. Not in a burning-crosses-on-front-lawns kind of way, but more in a profile-every-guest-as-they-walk-in-the-door kind of way. Which ultimately makes so sense at all, seeing as how middle-aged white women are among the worst tippers (and guests, for that matter) period.

2.) You become a misanthrope. Bluntly, you don’t just say horrible, judgmental, racist things about people, you think them. You shudder when you see the elderly, you cringe when you see the parade of velour tracksuits and Coach bags, you curse when you see teenagers. Actually that last one is pretty justified, but still.

3.) You don’t see people as much as dollar signs. We offer you appetizers beforehand, grilled chicken on your salad, that tempting dessert you’ve been eyeing, and premium booze in your martini not just to make your experience more fulfilling, but to increase our tips by increasing the size of your bill, making our time more worthwhile.

4.) You lose your ability to filter your own words. Here are some statements that I’ve actually said out loud in the presence of others about guests I’ve served. Please don’t judge me:

“Whore! Don’t tell me you’re a good goddamn tipper then leave me a fucking dollar!”

“She gives me a blank stare like she expects me to magically make it 3:00 so she can have her precious half-price nachos. Bitch, if I had that kind of power over time and space I’d be sitting on a beach somewhere having my toes licked.”

“Stupid hookers are sitting in 100 degree weather chugging coffee. I hate my life.”

“Don’t you know that’s how we operate here? People get lost on their way to Denny’s and come here instead. Twenty bucks says they try to order seasoned fries.”

“Somebody kill it!” (something I actually said in a raised voice in response to a crying baby with oblivious parents during the Sunday lunch rush at Mimi’s. I almost got fired for that one.)

5.) You freak out over stupid shit. Last November when I got pulled over on suspicion of DUI (don’t worry, no arrests were made) I didn’t even swear. But if I’ve got a mixed field greens for Table 20 that’s taking 15 minutes to make, my world ends. Case in point: I once bitched out all three food runners last Memorial Day because I had a Spicy Tuna Roll that was not only taking forever, they couldn’t even find the ticket. Want to know why? I hadn’t even rung the damn thing in. I felt so bad.

However, in all fairness to me, I would like to pay tribute to some of the folks that helped erode my faith in humanity almost beyond the point of redemption:

1.) The elderly couple who, after I offered to box up their chicken dinners, had me pick all the bones out by hand so their dog wouldn’t choke.

2.) The table of eight that launched into a full-scale brawl on Palm Sunday. Glass tabletops were broken, blood was drawn, and a flying teapot almost clocked a three-year-old girl at yet another table in my station. Four arrests were made. And I got to deal with the aftermath.

3.) The table of 20 that showed up ten minutes before closing (half of them drunk), ran my ass ragged for 90 minutes, then attempted to tip me $5 on $280. Fortunately, you didn’t notice the 20% gratuity I conned my manager into putting on the check.

4.) The kindly gentleman who asked me, with a shit-eating grin on his face, if I was pissed at my mother for naming me Trevor, then proceeded to ask me condescendingly what I wanted to do with my life. I told him I was hoping to kick my crystal meth habit. Dick.

5.) John Winter (his real name), the leering older regular whom I was forbidden to serve because of his crippling homophobia. So much, in fact, that every time he would come in when I was working, he would take one of the managers outside and scream at them about how I should be kept far away from guests due to my “perversion”. And every time this would happen, my GM (who was really never too big a fan of me) would put his arm around me right in front of him just to piss him off.

However, the worst experience of all was when I once accidentally called a short-haired woman “sir”, only to find out she was a breast-cancer survivor whose hair was still growing back from the chemo. I’m totally going to hell for that one. And I’ll bet she still tells that story of the evil, insensitive server who thought she was a dude. (I didn’t really…it was seriously a slip of the tongue.)

Needless to say, I don’t like what serving has turned me into; I’m bitterly ashamed of the hateful things I’ve thought and said about people. I’m a damn good server, and as long as I’ve got guests who are out for a good time, I genuinely care about their overall experience and do everything I can to enhance it. But, really, it’s rare. Most people are just out to lord over you and dick you out of as much free stuff as possible. And so I make my exit, committed to taking inventory of myself and focusing on undoing the damage I’ve caused myself. Then maybe I won’t be reincarnated as a cockroach.

As a parting admonishment to you from a future ex-server, here’s the short list for when you go out next:

1.) Look your server in the eye when you speak to them, and above all, when they speak to you; stop talking and acknowledge their presence when they approach the table.

2.) If you’re being picky, acknowledge that you’re being picky. And don’t be overly irritated if your order doesn’t arrive exactly as specified.

3.) Say thank you. Always.

4.) Never talk about what a great tipper you are, and never tell your server how great they are. Both statements are fail-proof preludes to a shitty tip. Say it with cash.

5.) Pleasant, efficient service = 20%. There is no discussion. To go less than 10% is to punish the bussers, food runners, and bartenders; 10% gets the message across loud and clear. If you’re at Denny’s, 20% no matter what. They deal with more than you could ever know — without a doubt the worst job in the industry.

What will sustain me forever are the memories of the Mimi’s Cafe in Broomfield, CO — my first serving job. I still get a tight throat thinking about it after all these years. I experienced so much love in that workplace in such a short span of time; I was dealing with such crippling depression that I would work doubles on a daily basis just to keep myself busy, then drive right back after work and hang around until closing. I felt safe there, an experience that has been duplicated in no other workplace I’ve been since. If only for this reason, I will miss being a server. Oh, and the ready cash and having most of your income off the books will be quite missed as well.

And, by the way, while I haven’t exactly spit in someone’s food before, remember that there are much more creative ways of exacting revenge. So be nice.

And to bring the theme of this post home entirely:

Filed by Trevor at 1:36 am under General, Social Issues, Pop Culture, Racism