Waiting tables isn’t for everyone. There, I said it. It happens to suit me just peachy for the moment because I’m a total misanthrope and a fine, fine bullshitter. Believe me, it helps. In some ways it’s like being part of some fabulous club; the service industry is a true subculture of grizzled alcoholics straight from the touring company of some wretched Dante adaptation. And boy, do we have some interesting conversations — nothing is taboo and everyone is fair game. I think it’s this raw discourse that’s kept me in this industry for so long, frank and honest exchanges about everything from anal sex to legalization of heroin to alternative phrases for “fag hag.” The managers, even! It’s one big happy drug-addled family.

Also, I’ve worked in enough restaurants to notice an interesting phenomenon that invariably occurs among all restaurant employees, a sort of political caste system. First, you have the hosts: pimply, awkward runts usually in their mid- to late teens who are predictably staunch Republicans because that’s what mommy and daddy are. Yawn. Next, the managers also tend to be quite conservative, but for different reasons — usually financial ones, as by this point they’ve racked up a mortgage, a couple of kids, possibly a divorce or two. And finally, you have the servers: cranky, oversexed twenty-somethings still possessing a wide-eyed, idealistic, anything-goes-just-give-me-my-hash approach to life, and thus tend toward the farthest reaches of liberal thought. Such is life with little to no variation, particularly as far the as the servers are concerned, but occasionally one or two wriggle free of this structure and set themselves apart.

We have a couple such defectors. You guessed it: servers who are in their early twenties and — dare I say it — Young Republicans. ‘Egads! “You’re too young to be Republican!” I always shout in mock horror. One of them is even half-Mexican with a gay uncle to boot, and still boasts a family-wide dedication to the GOP — a fact that just escapes me. “Even your swishy uncle?” I asked her. “Yeah,” she said, nodding. “Well, then he’s an idiot.”

Oops.

I say this because it is a rare thing indeed to have people around with whom you can have lively debates from opposite sides of the table and not only remain friends, but entertained as well. Take this exchange I had the other week with the other server in question, an Irish Catholic who doesn’t bother to hide his admiration for Sean Hannity:

Scene: I had just flipped open my wallet to make change for a table. He notices my ACLU card.

HIM: (glances down and groans) Well, that figures.
ME: (waves it in his face) What, this? I even give them money every month.
HIM: You’re wasting it.
ME: OK, so enlighten me, then — why do Republicans hate the ACLU so much? And don’t bring up that NAMBLA business, either. I’ll withdraw my membership if they pull that stunt again.
HIM: I just can’t stand them because they show up every time some idiot gets in trouble, like the whole Rodney King beating.
ME: Wait, Rodney King? Were they involved with that?
HIM: (beat) That’s the organization with Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson, right?
ME: That’s the NAACP. Wait…
HIM: (starts to walk away)
ME: You racist fuck! So now do you hate the NAACP?
HIM: (still walking) No…
ME: And you still haven’t told me why you hate the ACLU!

I caution you against interpreting the above as a “Trevor whips Republican ass” kind of anecdote, but rather friendly banter between two intelligent people with opposing viewpoints. The fact that we can bicker like this without it becoming personal is one of the reasons why I have quite a lot of respect for this person. Even though he’s a Republican. But it’s OK — I’m very open-minded.

And, to add to Bil’s earlier post, I deliberately saved the most important part of the restaurant pyramid for last: the back of the house staff, which includes the bussers, line cooks, dishwashers, and sous chefs. More often than not, they’re all Hispanic. All of them. And most speak both languages more than proficiently, which is more than can be said for me, who knows only enough Spanish to scream incoherently for more apple plum ginger sauce and to tell when they’re making fun of me. Which is often. But in all seriousness, we as servers have a front-row seat to one of the most divisive social issues currently tearing our society apart, and speaking for myself, an opportunity to confront one’s own racial prejudices head-on — especially when you consider the wide variety of the public we encounter on a day-to-day basis.

Now, how to make this into a children’s book. Any ideas?

Filed by Trevor at 10:43 pm under Social Issues, Damn Hippies, Politics