My friend and soul blogger No Love For Fatties, recently discussed her first job as a server (go check her out!) and it got me thinking about my own experience, considering I grew up in the restaurant business. Although some may think it was a cake job, being the owner’s daughter, it was tough. From day one, my father told me he would be tougher on my sisters and I. This was the right thing to do and made me who I am today. Working in a restaurant and then on to retail, taught me to have the utmost empathy and kindness towards servers and retail associates. So much so, when an ass hole is being an ass hole to let’s say…a Target employee, the minute said ass hole leaves the counter, I strike up a conversation in the hopes to make the person feel better.
“Ok….that guy was a COMPLETE jerk. I am so sorry you had to deal with that.”
I’ve never spit in anyone’s food. But once, a kid my age (we were both around 15 I’m guessing), came into my dad’s restaurant and was about as obnoxious and rude as one person could be. He was being mean to me, his parents and loud enough that he was beginning to piss off nearby tables. This was the one and only time I screwed with someone’s food.
“You want an antipasto salad?” I asked king ass hole, hoping I mis-heard him.
“Yup…unless that’s too hard for you.” He replied back like the snot he was.
“It would be my pleasure,” I said, smiling coyly and collecting his menu.
Now, if you’ve ever had an antipasto salad, and at least the way we made it in our restaurant, there are a million ingredients. All of which needed to be sliced. Not a hard salad to make, just time-consuming. When you’re busy on a Friday night, you pray to Jesus, Allah, Buddha and any other God, that no one orders this salad.
But ass hole ordered an antipasto salad and ass hole will get a special antipasto salad, lovingly crafted by yours truly.
I went into the large walk-in cooler, pulled out the tub of salami, opened the lid and pulled out 3 slices. Without fan fair, I dropped them on the floor.
“Oops!” I exclaimed. “3 second rule!” I said as I picked up the pieces and brushed off the debris from the floor. I laid those aside and pulled out the tub of provolone cheese, again selecting a few slices….then dropping them on the floor.
“Wow, I’m so clumsy today!” I said to no one since I was the only one in the cooler. My dad would have killed me by now if he knew what I was doing.
After repeating the same step with the ham, I gathered it up along with the provolone and salami and walked out to the salad table to assemble the salad.
Smiling, I delivered the salad to the kid. A little worried now, I placed the salad in front of him wondering if I didn’t brush off all the little pieces of concrete that had attached themselves to the lunch meat. know I had, but our brains sometimes make us paranoid.
And you know what? That ass hole ate EVERY…SINGLE….BITE.
So folks, the moral of the story is if you think you are better than the server serving you at The Olive Garden or better than the retail associate unsuccessfully zipping your size 12 ass into a size 6 dress….your not. Treat all of these people how you would want to be treated.
This has been a public service announcement of the Hot Mess Memoir Station.