“Does this mean you only have prime rib on Friday, Saturday and Sunday?” the customer asks as he points to where the menu reads "available Friday, Saturday and Sunday."
“Yes, sir. We only have it on Friday, Saturday and Sunday,” I reply, gripping my pen tighter by the second.
“Do you have it tonight?”
“No, sir. I’m sorry but tonight is Monday.”
“Well why did no one tell me?” my customer asks.
I have no words. I have been standing in front of this same table for close to four minutes. Four minutes is an eternity is the restaurant world. I try to subtly look to the two tables behind me- 219 needs another beer and the plates from 218 are gone- I need to give them their check, which, shoot! I forgot to print out their check.
“Well, I guess if I can’t have the prime rib-“ I catch myself from rolling my eyes, but only at the last minute. “I’ll have the sirloin tips.”
“Wonderful, Sir. And how would you like those cooked?”
“Does that come with a side salad?”
“No it does not, but if you would like-”
“What? No salad? Oh, just forget it. I’ll have a cheeseburger.”
I think about my student loans that will need to be paid off sooner than I’d like. I think about the fact that my shift will be over in less than three hours. I think about how much money I can make today. I think about how much I desperately wish I could be at school, in class, or even writing a paper. The little girl at 202 just spilt apple juice all over herself. Her parents catch my eye and make a ‘get-over-here,’ gesture. I’m starting to think the pen I am holding might snap in half from my vice-like grip.
In two weeks I will be a senior in college. I have studied, taken classes that have broaden my mind and my perspective of the world, I have studied abroad, I have undergone multiple internship experiences yet in the summertime I am exactly where I was three years ago when I was just a baby freshman in college.
I have watched my friends follow a clear trajectory during their summers away from school. Maybe after our first year they went back to camp counselor or ice cream stand jobs, but soon enough they left summer jobs behind and moved into the glamorous world of internships. Some of my friends have traveled, or moved to the city for the summer. They have worn skirts and blazers and worked in offices. They caught glimpses of the “real world” we are told comes after college.
Sure, my summer’s waitressing means plenty of spending money for vacations and bar tabs during the school year, but can you really put a price on your sanity? How much is being treated like an idiot by customers who refuse to read a menu worth in US dollars?
I take a deep, steadying breath, “and how would you like your cheeseburger cooked, sir?”
