We have all imagined that moment when we will simply drop our apron on a countertop, tell the manager what you REALLY think of him, and walk out the back door leaving tables sitting unsuspectingly in the dining room.
Actually, I had been visualizing this moment for years. Would I yell and scream? Would I walk out the back door quietly? Would I simply take my apron off, sit down at the bar, and order a drink?
Possibilities are endless. All with the same result. The release of years of holding back on what you want to say, what people really should be hearing.....
Well, I'll tell you what. On the evening of Saturday, December 17, 2011, that moment became a reality for me.
I started the evening with a conversation with one of the managers about the possibility of me covering Saturday, December 24. Obviously, with two children, this was not something I even wanted to consider. However, my regular shift was Saturday night, so if worse came to worse, it was mine to cover. This conversation left a very sour taste in my mouth, but I went on with the evening with a smile on my face.
I waited on a few very nice families and couples. (I should also mention that this is the very first post about a new waitressing gig I had picked up in my new hometown.) I was working in an upscale, fancy restaurant where the entree costs were higher than most of the check averages at the place mentioned throughout the rest of this blog.
So I waited on a few very nice families and couples. Check averages were high, and tips were higher. It was a pretty ok night!
Until I was sat with a table with some severe allergies. No problem! We can handle just about anything. Armed with ingredient questions, I went out back to double check with the owner/manager/head chef. He was obviously stressed with the way the rest of the evening was going. And, frankly, when he answered my questions, he did it in a manner that was meant to demean me and make me sound stupid. And I am not stupid.
No worries. Shake it off. I tried, I really did. But I now had to ask what this new, custom meal would cost. Ugg. So I pulled my head high and asked. And received the same treatment. I mentioned I'm not stupid, right? Nor do I appreciate being treated as such.
No worries. Shake it off.
Another server needed help running food for her table, so I stepped in to help. The manager was obviously irritated with my stupidity. While asking which seat number received each meal, the server who was working the table took the plates that he had described to me. Ugg. This was not going to be good. So I had to ask again. The response I got was worse than before.
To keep my sanity, I walked away to shake it off. What followed me was a battering of obscenities yelled at me within earshot of the entire bar and most of the staff.
I finally turned around and looked at him. His words at this moment were, "What, you can't take it???" and I realized that it wasn't that I COULDN'T take it, it was simply that I DIDN'T WANT to take it. I calmly untied my apron and set it on the counter. I walked to the bar area where his wife, the owner/manager/bartender was working. I told her that I would no longer be able to cover the Christmas Eve shift because I was walking out.
And that's what I did. Right after I made sure that all of my tables had new coverage.
It wasn't overly dramatic. I didn't yell and scream. I didn't set anything on fire. I simply walked out. I called a few friends and we went out for one of the best nights on the town that I had had in a long time.
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