If you've never had the opportunity to bring someone water with no ice and extra lemon, or ask them if they would like soup or salad and have them reply with a simple, frustrating “Yes,” then you, my friend, have never lived. My very first job was serving as a waitress. I was 19 years old, inexperienced and not sure how life as a working-girl was supposed to go. The restaurant was tiny; housed in the same strip mall as a nail salon, furniture store, barber shop and liquor store, and while it wasn't the most popular place around, it got its fair share of regular customers and there was usually a good turn out on karaoke nights. Having no prior work experience, I came in relatively open-minded. I had heard that waitresses could make pretty good tips, and I was looking to save up for a car, so if anything, this was a means to an end. It was just a job and something I could use to bulk up my resume for when I entered the real world. I got that and so much more.
It was unbelievably difficult at first, and this revelation didn't hit me all at once, but rather in a more subtle way. You would assume that serving customers their food was the bulk of serving, but it went beyond that. As with all new things that we begin in life, there were some initial frustrations. Our boss wasn't the most considerate man in the world which resulted in us not only seating tables and taking orders, but also clearing the tables, cleaning the bathroom, helping behind the bar if needed, some light meal prep and set up and take down of the chairs and tables at the end of every shift. We worked long hours, usually from 4 p.m. to 2 a.m. or later, and our paychecks were shorted more times than not, and because of the working conditions, it was common for people to quit after being there for only a short period. We dealt with difficult customers on a daily basis and even disagreements and arguments among the staff that would sometimes make the tension in the workplace so tangible, you could cut it with a knife.
But a month or so in, I began to see that serving is so much more than simply bringing someone a meal. I would describe it as the next step after selflessness. You're actively putting another person's needs above your own and then going another step forward to ensure it's taken care of. Eventually, I stopped telling people that I worked as a waitress and started saying that I served as one. I didn't limit myself to serving just my customers; I also learned what it really means to be a team player as well. I try to apply this to my walk with Christ as much as possible. It's humbling to reflect on how I started down this path of servitude by bringing people (sometimes very rude and demanding people) water and menus, and then staring at my boss in anger when he tells us that there was an accident in the men's room that needed cleaning. Sometimes I didn't even get a thank you, let alone a tip, as customers were leaving the restaurant. It would drive me crazy at first, but when I started getting regular customers and I started taking the time to get to know them and learn their names and favorite dishes and overall being more genuine and intentional in my efforts to serve them, that's when I realized that I didn't like my job; I loved it.
My coworkers and I didn't always see eye-to-eye, but we were able to find commonalities despite our differences. We were still a team and therefore still responsible for each other. Sure, the temptation to look out for one's own well being is always an innate consequence of being human, but in addition to serving our customers, we looked out for each other as well. With any job in customer service there's going to be moments of irritation and sometimes we fell below the customer's expectations and they had no problem in letting us know exactly how they felt. In my first few shifts I messed up orders, gave back the wrong change, and didn't always have the right answers. Fortunately, my coworkers were there to be the encouragement I needed and to help me develop a thicker skin. When I gained experience of my own, I was able to return the favor to the newer workers and the cycle continued.
Eventually, the restaurant closed down and even though none of the jobs I've had afterwards were in the same area, I was still able to draw from the feelings and experiences I had as a waitress to help me. I found that when you truly have a servant's heart, it will serve you well wherever you are. When you have a genuine desire to help others get what they need, work becomes more than just a job and more than just a means to an end. Servitude looks different on everyone, but the pureness of it, the genuine love for making sure complete strangers are taken care of, is the same.
