I still have waitressing dreams. In them, my section suddenly fills with patrons and I launch into action – fetching water, reciting menu specials, grabbing the booster seat for table one and the extra ice for table two. Stressful as it sounds, these aren’t nightmares. Sometimes, I really miss waitressing.
I waited tables in places ranging from beachside cafes to high-end restaurants, on and off for 13 years. It taught me my most valuable lessons about human nature.
Working front-of-house taught me to not rush someone when they just really need to talk, how to talk to anyone about anything and the ways to end a conversation with grace. It taught me to be patient, but also to pay attention to many things at once – so all those spinning plates don’t wind up broken on my section’s floor.
The best memories are the busy shifts that worked seamlessly, where everyone performed their roles flawlessly. It was deeply satisfying sitting at the bar with my co-workers at the end of a shift, counting up tips with a glass of wine in hand, vibrating with the relief that nothing had gone wrong. Those memories taught me teamwork.
But it’s not just the good shifts that give you real insights. All happy customers are alike and each unhappy customer is unhappy in their own way.
The waiter-customer power dynamic is complex and delicate. Learning to navigate somebody else’s disappointment, mitigating their expectations and entitlement, and receiving – calmly and without emotion – their full-throated ire if the steak is overcooked or the soup is too soupy, are priceless life skills.
My final table were an unhappy couple in their 50s. It’s an interesting thing, standing over people while they’re sitting. It may be the only part of the dance where the waiter has the upper hand psychologically.
People transmit things when you’re standing above them. They tell you when they’re lonely and hungry for conversation. They tell you if they’re on a date and whether it’s going well. They tell you that they’re worried about the prices and quietly hope that when the split bill comes, you won’t make them pay for wine they didn’t drink. This last couple sent a clear signal: they loathed each other. He told me by openly eyeballing me. She told me with a glance that let me know she noticed.
Dealing with unwanted flirtations while holding your professional ground is – unfortunately – baked into the service industry (and pretty much every industry), especially for women. In this case, I employed a well-worn strategy: directing all of my energy towards her, while ignoring him. “I’m on your side,” I telegraphed. “Solidarity!”
But this particular night, it didn’t work. This woman, probably having had a gutful of her husband’s inappropriate behaviour, decided that tonight she’d take it out on me. The two of them proceeded to get plastered and treat everyone terribly.
They stayed long after the “open” sign was off, as chairs around them were placed upside down on tables. I asked if I could bring them anything else. The woman insisted on a creme brulee – having been told already that the kitchen was closed. Through gritted teeth I made it happen anyway.
Eventually she stumbled towards the bar where I was chatting with the bartender. She demanded more wine. I apologetically explained that not only was the bar closed, she was also past the limit where we could responsibly serve her. Then, the gloves came off:
Her: “What’s your name? I want to talk to your manager!”
Me: “My name is Naima Brown, and your name is drunk-arse bitch.”
Oh, the look on her face. I’d broken the rules! I was a server. She was the customer. How dare I? This flashed across her face just before she vomited all over the carpet.
I’ve never forgotten that night. I mined it heartily for a scene in my first novel. One of the main characters, Mara, throws her weight around in a restaurant. A decision that doesn’t end well for her.
Today, I’d handle it differently. I aim for the Michelle Obama school of going high when they go low, especially with other women. But enforcing a boundary and refusing bad treatment did feel deeply good in the moment.
Now I’m a fiction writer and before that I was a producer in news and current affairs. In both these occupations, it is the skills I acquired in waitressing that have served me the most. I learned to de-centre my own story, so that someone else’s can be told. It’s why, while working as a news producer, I could manage the agitation of a very well-known musician (sorry, can’t name names), or the hot-temper of a fiery athlete (still can’t name names).
And yes, waitressing taught me when you can no longer serve someone. How to judge that your ability to handle their needs has come to an end.
If you wait tables long enough, you will encounter every kind of person. And how you deal with those people will show you every part of yourself.
