Fries, Coleslaw or Rice Pilaf?

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Even if you are a waiter for a short time, you are doomed to have waiter nightmares for the rest of your life. You go into work and your uniform is missing or you can't figure out how the tables are numbered or you've suddenly developed a limp. Your weird aunt, who was always hard to please, pops up at one table or someone who made fun of you in high school or an ax murderer is demanding their appetizer. You miss your wedding because no on will cover for you.

I was a waiter or as I like to call them, servers for almost 6 years at a restaurant in Oregon. They are "Nationally Famous" for their clam chowder. Little do the tourists know, the chowder is actually potato paste with a few cans of clams thrown in. The cooks just add a gallon of whole milk and boil the pot. They even sprinkle a bit of sand in there to make is taste a bit more authentic.

At the time, the place was run by a despot named Steve, who, when he was through screaming at us at staff meetings for our various and sundry infractions - bleach stained aprons and snide attitudes and tardiness and wastefulness and our overall failure as viable beings - he would make the startling pronouncement that the greatest achievement of our lives was that we were working for him. He usually said this to me while staring at my boobs. WTF? Without a doubt, Steve was the most loathsome person I had ever met, and if somehow someone could manage to avoid his wrath and last more than two weeks on the waitstaff, that was, indeed an accomplishment.

Everyday I put on my waiter costume and my efficient-waiter smile and I went there and tried to make people happy enough to tip me 20 percent. And between taking orders, delivering food, and avoiding Steve, who nightly could be found hitting on tourist women, I could be found out back, watching the bay and dreaming of a better way to make money. Eventually, I would have to go back in. I would apply more chapstick and prepare to kiss more ass for tips.

Here is how to be a good server, which means getting large tips: always give an opinion when asked. The fisherman's salad is better than the caesar. The cod is so-so but the halibut is delicious. People love when you tell them not to have something. It inspires trust. Shake your head conspiratorially when talking about the shrimp skewers. That's it. The rest is common sense. Be nice but not intrusive, be relaxed but let them know you are in control. Get them stinking drunk.


Although I absolutely hated running around, pretending I gave a shit about how a stranger's day was, telling them what food not to eat, and pretty much bending over while getting treated like crap, but still hoping to get paid… I look back at it and think, "I never have to do it again."

These memories alone give me motivation to get through school. Now, back to writing my paper.