I quit my job yesterday. I simply told the hosts at the restaurant not to sit me anymore and as soon as my table left, so did I.
This leaving mid-shift is my form of storming out. I once put in a two weeks notice and was told that it was entirely unnecessary. I don’t just leave. I don’t want to make my coworkers any more stressed than they need to. I don’t want to inconvenience anyone. Yet, last night, my options were either: cry in front of my tables or leave. I decided to keep my dignity for at least one more day.
Okay, so here’s a gist of what went down (note: I won’t go into the details because 1. that’s boring and 2. I don’t want to give my ex place of work a bad reputation. I enjoyed working there for quite some time. All of my friends and a good chunk of my family work there. I just need the story for context).
I was standing in the kitchen waiting for my food to come out. I asked “how long on the xxxxx?,” as servers do all of the time. Yet, for some reason it caused my reality to turn into an episode of Hell’s Kitchen. I got yelled at by the chef. But it wasn’t the screaming or the hatred behind his eyes that did it for me. That I can take. It was the words that were spewed out from between his lips. “I’m the king of the kitchen,” I was reminded. “You’re just a waitress. Get the fuck out of here.” I looked around, searching for the camera. The “gotcha!”. Gordon Ramsay, come out.
“You’re just a waitress.” The assertion spit at me. Stabbing me in the chest. Making me feel completely and entirely incompetent.
I stood there waiting. For what? I’m not sure. Reality to set in, maybe. All I know is that I was unable to move, my feet glued to the ground.
After my mind caught grasp of what just happened, I forced my body out of the kitchen door and ducked into the corner booth where all of the servers hang out. I attempted to hide from my tables who I needed to check on. I needed to catch my breath before I could plaster on a fake smile (which I don’t think anyone bought anyway when paired with glossy eyes). I walked over and reassured my customers that their food would be up soon.
About an hour later, I was finally released from my hell. I walked home, thinking. A waitress. Is that really all that I am?
I go back to school in less than a month. I have been applying for part time jobs in writing, editing, public relations, marketing, teaching, etc., pretty much anything I am even remotely qualified for. So far, all I’ve gotten is an inbox filled with emails that I don’t even need to open. Their opening line “We regret to inform you…”.
If no one gives me a shot, I’ll be stuck applying to another restaurant job and being “just a waitress” all over again. The thought keeps me up at night.
What do I do now? Keep looking I guess. Try everything I can to convince someone that I’m worth hiring. I know I’ll get that “big girl job” eventually. The one that I foolishly believed that my overpriced degree would guarantee. But until then, I will keep being a waitress while reminding myself that it isn’t all that I am.
NOTE: I believe that being a server can be a career, and have the utmost respect for those who choose this path. Working in service is simply just not something that I want to do for a career.
