It’s 11:00. Work is in 30 minutes. I quickly hop in the shower and wash away the aura of food that soaked in from working last night. I get dressed, put on the only apron issued to me which has a scratch’n’sniff array of food stains caked onto it because I can’t bring myself to wash my clothes daily. I put on my black work shirt because in the 6 months I’ve worked here, my manager has yet to order me a red one. 1 shirt, 1 apron for 8 shifts per week.
I arrive to work at 11:28 am. Short drive; it’s right across the street. The first thing I do after clocking on is to walk up to the front door and see which section my manager has blessed me with today. Suppressing my urge to express dissatisfaction, I head back to the back to have some soda out of a small cone. This is the third time this week I’ve had this crappy section that only has 2 booths, 2 small tables (2 chairs) and 2 high-tops that are quite unpopular for lunch.
My first two tables come quickly. This usually isn’t the case, as our “rush” typically doesn’t happen until shortly after noon. My first table is an older couple who decides to drink waters and split our lunch combo. Total bill: $7.53. My second table is a pair of workers from a nearby factory. They don’t tend to tip well, but I serve everyone equally. I learned a long time ago not to judge a book buy it’s cover when feeding the masses. You’ll make your own assumptions come true.
30 minutes after receiving my second table, I’m still waiting around for a third, so I hang out at the front door to take the next customers to my section. A delightfully greedy server comes up and talks with me for a moment before standing in front of me as a group walks through the door, and she walks them to her section. Wonderful.
1:00 pm rolls around and I’ve only had 4 tables. The manager cuts the floor from 6 servers to 4, which expands my section to include 2 more booths. Unfortunately I lose my two “high-top” tables which, moments later, both get sat by a group of 6. My new section is checkered with a pair of 1-tops (1 guest), an elderly couple that shares another lunch combo, and a pair of women from a nearby health facility.
Finally 2:30 rolls around and I’ve been cut from the floor. I haven’t had a table for 30 minutes, so my section has been mostly cleaned. No messy kids today; no crayons to pull out of the booth cracks and no smashed cracker crumbs to attempt to sweep out of the carpet with a ragged broom. I leave at 2:50 pm with 21 dollars.
My first meal of the day consists of hamburger helper microwave singles and a few hot fries that I have left over. While I am married, I still eat like a bachelor. Usually on a double shift, I would eat between shifts at work, but I needed to head home to leave a small grocery list for my wife, and some money for her to go shopping with.
I head back in at 4:00 pm for the second half of my day. Tonight my section will be in smoking, which means it’ll either be really busy or completely dead. Until 5:30, though, myself and the other 4:00 server will alternate tables that come in. Since this is usually the slowest part of the day, I take the time to relax a bit and chat with the closing manager and the other servers about random things.
It’s a rather uneventful day, with tables trickling in, most being elderly couples. I tend to consider my time between 4:00 and 5:30 “bonus” time because it’s before the remainder of the evening serving crew arrives. I have 5 tables in this period and make about 20 dollars.
5:30 rolls around and it’s time to take over my section in smoking. The other server in smoking complains that she won’t make any money tonight and asks me to stay longer tonight. I decline; working a double makes for a long enough day without having to stay late. Shortly after this conversation, smoking gets completely bombarded with tables.
It’s hard to describe the frantic feeling you get when you’re faced with many decisions at once. When you look at an array of tables that are all your responsibility, 5 of which just got sat at about the same time, what do you do? How do you go about making them all feel that you appreciate their business? Don’t let them see you sweat. I sweep through the tables, quickly, giving each one a unique greeting and make a little bit of quick small talk with each as I take their drink orders and treat them as though they are the only table there. The group of 4 and a child order an impressive array of same-looking sodas. The booth next to them, a mid-30’s couple, asks me to choose a drink and appetizer for them. My third booth is an older couple whom I’ve seen in here before, and they have their order ready for me by the time I get to them to take their drink order. The table across the walkway, a young boy and what appeared to be his grandparents, were a breath of fresh air. Genuine smiles and understanding of how busy we were. The high top table on the other side of a rail barrier decides to just drink and share an appetizer.
It takes a large amount of concentration to tune out the noise of a full restaurant, the chatter of servers, the noise of the kitchen behind you, and the frequent questions of a newer server. Somehow I managed to fit all of the non-alcoholic drinks onto a single round tray and deliver them. I quickly jot down the orders from each table and spend about 5 minutes at the computer making sure I don’t miss a single special request. No tomato on the bacon cheeseburger. Extra BBQ sauce with the riblets please. Can you bring us an extra side of sweet potato fries? I’m going to need extra napkins with my fajitas, I’m a messy eater. Can you put all these on separate checks?
The next several hours of my life vanish into a blur of drink refills, playful banter with the servers, taking food to my tables, taking food to other peoples’ tables, ear to ear smiles as I get one good tip after another (uncommon in this particular town), and taking too many loads of dirty dishes back to the back. We have hosts that bus and clean our tables, but I like to get in there and do it myself whenever I can. Taking care of the crew at the front is a good way to make sure they take care of you when they can. I also like to make sure the cooks in the back know that I think they do a good job. Getting along with your coworkers is the best way to set yourself up for success. It’s not always easy, but it pays off in so many ways.
Finally the dust settles and I’m down to 3 tables. A group of 5 college-age people (military, I later find out) enjoy several appetizers, a pitcher of beer and are a lot of fun to serve. Towards the end of their meal they ask me “As a guy, when someone asks you to help them move, what do you expect?” I immediately answer “beer” and the 2 guys at the table nod approvingly. They probably just won a bet. My last 2 tables weren’t very memorable. By the end of the night you’ve seen so many faces that it’s hard to remember specifics.
As my tables leave I cash them out at the computer so I can run my sales report. This is the moment of truth. I have to give 3% of my sales to the bartender as our “tip out” to the bar and the host for their service to us. 3% doesn’t sound like much, until you think that 15% is the “average” tip. I use that term loosely because it’s not a standard upheld in this town by a lot of people. All the sudden, then, 3% is 20% of my income tonight, assuming I hit the 15% average in the first place. Tonight was a good night, though. My tip-out to the bar is $15, but I’m still leaving with 75 dollars. More than I could have expected out of a Thursday evening in smoking. I spend the next hour rolling silverware (putting it in napkins and wrapping a piece of paper around it), sweeping my section, replacing sugar, salt and pepper at my tables, taking out the trash and sweeping the floor in the back, and eating my free meal (up to 8 bucks) for working a double.
96 dollars is a pretty good double shift for a Thursday. After working a little less than 9 hours, and factoring in my $3.25/hour that will be on my check next week, that’s a pretty good wage to be making. Hopefully tomorrow will be good too.
