October 12, 2002
Argosy Family
Work would be unbearable without my beloved 3rd shift servers. So, to Mary, Don, Judy, Roberta, Tina, Angel, Barb, Amber, Nina, Heather, and Josh, I dedicate this entry.
Michelle and Ginny, the pair of you are both still fairly new and I am not sure I can really include you with my lovely veteran servers. Perhaps someday. But I like you, too.
And Pam, you know I love you, but last night you were fighting with one of my hostesses and subsequently unleashing that anger on me. I'm not sure what happened between you and Gena... but I'm sure you'll be back to your sunshine bitch self today.
Teri, Debra, Cindy, and Diane, you have either pissed me off within the past two weeks or don't like me. It's okay, though, because I forgive you. I don't like me much either.
The subculture of servers (and the occasional hostess or busboy) flourishes in the side-stands, those small islands of respite situated around the seating area. Granted, while there is always at least one person doing what is expected of them, such as cutting lemons, getting drinks, cleaning crab crackers, there are generally about three people hiding for the sum of thirty and thirty seconds, grateful for even the smallest of times away from The Customers From Hell. Amber sits on milk crates, craving a cigarette. Roberta eats a cookie that she has deftly stolen from the dessert bar. Heather does the funky monkey, and begs for me to dance with her. Don torments Teri with glasses of chocolate milk. Pam barges in, eyes aflame:
"Five dolla', make you holla'."
I watch all of this through a writer's eyes, wondering if some day I will capture this phenomenon with a pen. There is so much to be said for them, and yet, when I sit down to do so, the finite details disappear, and I am left instead with a feeling of five parts desperation and one part hysterical laughter, because we are all going slowly mad, and Argosy is killing us, but we could never, ever leave.
Day shift would be a cake walk. But I'd rather suffer to work with these men and women, because it is rare you encounter so excellent a crowd. Restaurants are strange places. Take a look at your server the next time you go out to eat. Recognize them for the individual that they are, as opposed to the person that brings you drinks and dinner.
Because you can bet, that if you treat them like shit, they're talking shit about you in the back.
And if they don't, I will.
astera at 10:40 a.m.