It’s over. My last waitressing shift was Saturday night, and my three-year career as a restaurant server is over.
My final shifts on Friday and Saturday nights weren’t easy. It’s almost as if the general manager wanted to make sure I would really go. She scheduled me to be the anchor person on Friday: getting the lion’s share of tables, being the last to leave and doing the extra Friday night work, handling tables sauces and sauce jars that need to be washed that night. Ugh.
On Saturday night I was scheduled to work one of two special parties, while also carrying a full section on the regular dining room floor. I really didn’t know how to do one of these parties and one of the managers had to help me a LOT. I felt pressured, out of my element and resentful. Why throw something at me for which I have inadequate experience, on my final night? I couldn’t even make a learning experience out of it because I”ll never do it again. It was just really annoying.
We were also busy on Saturday night, so by 9:20 p.m. I felt frazzled, frustrated, overwhelmed and fed up. In the kitchen, I lost it for a minute, yelling, “I don’t want to work here anymore! I don’t even want to be here anymore! Who WANTS this job?” Finally, at around 9:45 it let up and the crowds subsided.
Now I will never work as a waitress again. It’s sad because I did like (most of) my co-workers, the clientele and a lot of the work. I just hated the pressure of having to do dozens of things at the same time when it was busy. And the late hours and the physical pain. So I’m gone.
It’s hard to believe I’ll never wear that uniform and those shoes and bustle about for hours at a time. I can spend the extra five- and one-dollar bills I always kept in my pocket, put the wine key in the kitchen drawer and forget EVERYTHING I memorized about wine (which I’ll never use because I don’t even drink wine). Thank god. I’m free.
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