I'm Really a Waitress

I have this great, bright-red, kickin' nail polish called "I'm Not Really a Waitress," and I absolutely love it. Having red-painted toenails makes me feel like there's a really brave and beautiful girl beneath my thrifted sneakers and holey jeans.

But I am really a waitress. I have a college degree which I, my parents, and my grandparents paid over $80,000 for--and I have the loans to prove it. Yet I get up every morning, sometimes before sunrise, and go to a restaurant where I take orders, wash dishes, and wipe tables in order to put groceries on the table. A lot of folks don't understand that.

I chose to be a waitress. I could have a 9-5 desk job where I type on a computer, surf the internet, and bring home a comfortable salary for surprisingly little work. I've chosen to wait tables instead.

And I absolutely adore what I do! It is my one and only job to bring people beautiful things. How many people get to say that? How many people's primary job description is to make people happy? Every day at work, I get to greet a hundred people with a smile. I get to ask them how they are, and really listen to their answer. I get to say "Thanks for coming by! Have a great day!" and really mean it. I bring them food that is holy, because the people who make it love to give people good things, and bless the beautiful foods they prepare. I smile again, and say, "Is everything great for you?" Great, not merely good. (If it's not, I go back and make them something that is.) I am the hand that brings folks hot-from-the-oven bread, beer made by a guy whose name I know, and handmade chocolate truffles, for pete's sake! Are very many things more beautiful?

The food and drink I serve is utter goodness. The recipes are original to our owner and chef, who made them up in his own kitchen out of the dream of his heart to share good food with his friends. The ingredients are primarily local, and their purchase goes to feed a farmer's children or add on to the rancher's stock barn or pay Jon the coffee man's only employee so that he can have a couple of hours off to rest. I bring excellent meals to customers made from these things!

When my job is a little slow, I have the opportunity to help my co-workers, who I genuinely like. I can lift the heavy ice jug for our pregnant bar-tender. I can garnish soups or dress salads for the smart-mouthed, quick-witted kitchen dudes. I can refill the manager's pop when he's busy making next week's work schedule. I can give, and I love it.

Every few days, an old man with white hair and a cane walks through our door. I should know his name by now, but even though I don't, he's my friend. Every day he orders a cinnamon cream scone and coffee, black, because he says cream's no good for you. At breakfast, folks normally serve themselves. But I bring his coffee out to his table and get him his silverware. I ask him how his morning walk was. He calls me "dear," and I love when he comes through the door.

Once, on a dark and stormy morning, I was working early, making coffee, wiping tables, and a beautiful moment took me by surprise. I was worried for a friend, who I hadn't seen in a while and I knew was in a tough spot far away. But I was dancing a little as I cleaned tables and stocked silverware, all full of early-morning joy. Suddenly my friend was knocking on the still-locked patio door, back from adventuring, fresh off the train, dirty and tired and successful. I hugged him and he sat at the bar and drank the coffee I gave him. He wrote me a note about monks and peace and the sharing of gifts, and he sipped his coffee, and I polished silverware, and life was even more beautiful than before.

I really am a waitress, and I really am glad. This is exactly where I am supposed to be for this time. I am blessed with the opportunity to be able to endlessly give, and to pay my bills at the same time. I am a waitress, and I would not choose to be doing anything else in the world.