OPINION: After years consumed by the hospitality industry, Bunbury woman Jayde Thomas raises the question - why is working in a restaurant or cafe widely viewed as a stop-over on the way to a better career?
No matter which restaurant I am in, who I am with or what I am wearing, my dinner conversation always seems to begin the same way.
‘Hello, my name is Jayde; I will be your waiter for this evening.’
Unoriginal, I know, but it covers all bases. It also breaks that uncomfortable silence which occurs when you are looming over two people, quietly trying to achieve the impossible balance between unobtrusive and obvious. My all time favourite customer response, tersely stated while avoiding eye contact, would have to be,
‘We’re not ready yet.’
Ok. I'm just trying to say hello, for god's sake. I’m not asking for a life-long commitment, I’m not suggesting that you won’t be fed if you don’t order in the next 4.8 seconds, but I’m telling you, your wait on drinks just got a hell of a lot longer. Usually, I paste a smile on my face and hiss through gritted teeth,
‘Absolutely, I was just wondering if you would like to hear the specials or order a drink.’
Generally, one-half of the couple then listens attentively while the first continues to read the menu, looking up only at the end to ask for a repeat. This is followed by a demand to know if the barramundi is salt-water or farmed.
‘Farmed’, I ever so sweetly reply.
This lovely paragon of customers everywhere will then undoubtedly follow up by stating loudly that they would never dream of eating farmed barramundi because it tastes so muddy.
I HATE YOU! I scream in my head while quietly assuring them that chef is confident of the quality of our barramundi, otherwise he would refuse to serve it. The long-suffering customer then shoots me a withering look before ordering the steak, in the tone of someone who is confronted by imbeciles on a regular basis. And this only happens if I am in a good mood.
If I am in a bad mood, the comment ‘we’re not ready yet’ is followed by a beaming smile from me, and a quick ‘absolutely, not a problem!’ as I glide away from the table with all the grace of a ballerina. My smile grows bigger as I hear one of them mutter quickly,
‘We could have at least ordered our drinks.’
This is followed by a soft, embarrassed ‘excuse me’ from the first customer, which quickly trails off as they see me sweep up to the next table, my exuberant waiter mode firmly in place. I smile, I make a quick joke, my new table laughs; they comment on the outstanding quality of the food and the restaurant and I top up their wine with a showy flourish.
Meanwhile, my rude friends next door sit without drinks or bread, rage mounting as they observe the wonderful evening my more agreeable customers are having. And there they will sit, thirsty and confused, unable to comprehend why the next table is already on desserts. I make sure I waltz past them several times, smile in place and head held high, until they finally manage to pin me down.
‘Oh!’ I say, appearing pleasantly startled. ‘Are you ready to order now?’
I probably sound like a sadist.
Ok, fine, I definitely sound like a sadist.
But I want you to know that I didn’t start out this way, I have been conditioned through the years by those delightful people who seem to view going out to eat as an opportunity to make someone else’s life hell.
In this age of instant gratification, personal satisfaction and maintaining social status, the role of the waiter has become a servitude position garnering little respect. I am constantly asked by well meaning folk, ‘what else do you do?’ or, ‘are you studying at university?’ as though my 60-hour working week is of no significance.
When I am in a pleasant mood, or slightly drunk, I enjoy making up witty stories to please their good intentions, regaling them with tales of my successful life in which waiting tables is but an insignificant and humorous part. More often than not, though, their benevolence grates like the worst insult.
Yet how often have people exclaimed to me, ‘oh, you’re just a waitress?’ before blushing uncomfortably at my disparagingly raised eyebrow.
Yes, my friend, I am just a waitress, a pitiable soul who brings food and beverages to your table in exchange for money. But does that make me any better or worse than you? Unfortunately, in 2013 we are often encouraged to view people in terms of their occupation.
Celebrities, lawyers, doctors, sports stars and CEO’s are envied for their fabulous jobs, their prestige and their enormous disposable income. More and more people in Australia are joining the mining workforce in search of a six-figure salary. Single car garages are a thing of the past: darling, where would we fit the new boat? We refuse to wait patiently for anything, ‘saving’ is considered old-fashioned in this age of instant and seemingly unlimited credit.
Going out to dine in restaurants is no longer considered an exciting and highly anticipated luxury; rather it is what you do when you’re bored on a Tuesday night. And hey, thanks to the advent of reality cooking shows, customers now know, or believe they know, everything there is to know about food. They know all about gourmet cooking and achieving the right balance of flavours. They heard it from Marco Pierre White on Master Chef last night.
Television also reinforces the notion of waitressing as a humiliating and inconsequential past time, entered into only by necessity. Think Penny in The Big Bang Theory, Rachel in Friends, Caroline and Max in Two Broke Girls. Aspiring actress; aspiring fashion buyer; father declared bankrupt; terrible childhood, in that order. Is it any wonder that people constantly ask me what I would rather be doing?
So, for those people out there who deem themselves above their lowly waiter and behave accordingly, watch out. I will be smiling politely at you while I tell the kitchen to wait on your meals, the bar staff to under-pour your drinks and the manager to seat the family with four screaming children at the table right by you there. Dare to come back again? I will be sure to find you a fantastic seat right by the toilet.
