Dear servers I managed in D.C. and Fort Lauderdale:
I double and triple sat you all the time. Many apologies.
I begged you to stay late and take the last table that, in the end, only left a 10 percent tip. Many thanks.
I didn’t help pre-set and pre-bus tables enough. Many thanks, again, for getting it done.
I didn’t fully comprehend the concept of being so weeded you were in the thick of the Everglades (to quote beloved Upset Waitress). Many reality checks today.
I didn’t get it. Ha! Now I do.
And it wasn’t even that busy in my little corner of paradise. I am so exhausted I am willing myself to stay up until 9 p.m. Yet, I somehow managed to make a little bit of bank.
Season’s coming, so they say. So we all hope. Bring on the northern blizzards and send ’em down–but give me another couple of weeks to figure out how to write tickets so the cook can read them, carry a tray of food on my shoulder, not slosh trays of drinks, up-sell everything, and recognize this fish from that fish from all the other fish and eggs “oe” from eggs “om” from all the other eggs as they come off the line.
Actually, the job does feel like brain surgery to this gal, what with everything being all mixed up in my head. I’ll get it eventually, right?
Right, Upset Waitress???