Yah that's right. I'm a waitress. Prior to getting this job, I thought we called them 'servers', but apparently in International Falls Minnesota, the term Waitress is alive and well.
So here's how it went down: Keri, Kelly and I took advantage of Karley having her permit and made her drive us out to the lake so we could stick our feet in the lake and have a drink. Then we hopped to the next lodge and had another. I asked if they needed any help, kind of on a whim. She wasn't sure, but she let me fill out an application. Keri was convinced that I acted such a fool that I would never be hired. Two hours later, I got a voicemail asking me to come out on Thursday at 5pm.
Not for an interview, it seemed. To work. I got there at the appointed time, and ended up shadowing a seasoned waitress. I feel uncomfortable calling her that. Let's go with server. Anyway I ended up shadowing this seasoned server, with 20 years' experience. I worked for five hours. The newest member of the staff! I reported for duty on Sunday as well. I didn't feel comfortable taking any tables yet, but it didn't matter. We only had a table of nine and a table of two.
I wasn't scheduled to work again until the following Saturday, but something came up on Monday night and they needed me to work the shift. BY MYSELF. OH. MY. GOD. I mean, I'm no idiot, but there's such a ton of stuff to do when you're a server. You have to show up two hours before anybody even gets there to set up and prep and chop and refill and wipe and clean and whatever. So I did. And thank goodness there was a list of things that needed to be done. Well by the time anybody even showed up my armpits REEKED. BAD. Like pepper. Terrified that somebody might smell it as I reached over them to clear a plate, and terrified the cook might see me do it, I secretly snuck a wet soapy paper towel and washed out my pits in the back storage room. Triumphant, I emerged. The mirror is right above the garbage I used to throw away the paper towel. What I saw made me want to die. The wet paper towel caused a huge wet spot in my armpits, which now looked exactly like a prison inmate's jumpsuit after a full day of cleaning the ditch in the hot sun.
So now I had to tell the cook what happened, lest he think I was Sweaty McSweaterson. And I had to NOT raise my arm in front of any of my customers, while serving them food and clearing their stuff off the tables. ARGH. In the end I had two tables of five, and three tables of two. 16 customers, all very nice and patient with me. I decided I'm going to tell every table for the rest of the summer that it's my first time serving.
The night ended just as embarrassingly. Somebody from Nashville was playing his guitar in the bar area, and I joined in for a fantastic fun amazing sing-along. I was given a free gin and tonic by the bartender to celebrate my first night of solo serving in my whole life. And before I knew it, the gin/tonic was refilled a second time. Also, I had forgotten in my hasty stressful solo evening to order anything to eat. And so there was no way I could drive home. Guess who had to drive me? The cook. What a trashy trashy fool. Now I'm Trashy McSweaterson, of French Addition. Today I brought my nephew back out to the lodge in the "Drive of Shame" to pick up my car. p.s. it was 5pm, and I was still wearing my pajamas.
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