The First Day

Well, I just got done working my first shift as a server in about seven years, and I have this to say: I am exhausted!

I ran food, took orders, refilled drinks, cleaned...the whole nine yards. I even rolled a couple of trays of silverware. I really think I am going to like this job. The people I work with seem to be friendly, although I did notice that every single one of them was bitching about someone else. I have yet to find out if they're all bitching about the same person or just basically bitching about everyone. LOL. I remember how that goes. Anyway, everyone seemed to be helpful. I did notice a couple servers were really slow, and we were really busy today, so there was some snapping going on. I have thick skin, so it doesn't bother me at all. The manager, who actually manages, (imagine that!) was helping to tray up food and since a few people were in the weeds, whenever she saw me she would bark, "Run this to table 5" or "Please go see if table 23 needs more coffee." I wasn't standing around doing nothing, but it felt good to be very, very busy. I probably got more exercise today than in the last few weeks, and it feels good. Right now I'm just training, so I didn't make any tips. I can't wait to start making tips. Most everyone on the morning shift went home happy today.

The customers weren't too bad either. I didn't really have any assholes today, but then again, I was only following behind my trainer. She is very laid back, doesn't let the stress get to her, which is exactly the kind of attitude I need to be around because I do let myself get stressed out too much. There was one weird lady and her equally weird son that caught my attention, mostly because of the drinks they ordered. She ordered a white chocolate cappucino and a tomato juice. Cappucino and tomato juice? Gross! Her son ordered one of our signature fruit drinks. They barely talked to us or to each other and they both had dirty hair. But they left a decent tip and weren't much trouble, so I could care less how weird they are. LOL.

One more footnote. I am a Yankee, strictly Yank all the way to the bank, and living in the deep south is still a culture shock, even after a year of being here. Today, on my way to work, there was a car in front of me that had what looked like a temporary plate stuck in the back window. As I got closer, I realized it was a not a plate at all, but rather a white cardboard sign. In red crayon, someone had written Lost tag.

Lost tag? Are you kidding me? Like the police are going to read your hastily scribbled note that you wrote in red crayon and decide that nahhhh....they're not going to pull you over this time. I mean, what in the hell is that? Take your southern ass to the DMV and get replacement tags, you dummy. I just shook my head as I passed him. I mean, who does that? Sheesh.