The Worst Compliment Ever!

It was 4 p.m. on the dot. I was actually early for a change. I had gotten to work at 15 minutes til 4 p.m.—15 minutes before my shift would begin. Normally I am right on time…or two minutes after. The sad truth of my early arrival is nothing, but pure, green greed. You see, the green, crisp, evil dollar bill fuels me. It’s my birth rite. Although I hate my job as a server, it is addicting—not the job, but the green, crisp, evil dollar bill. It’s true; ask any fellow server. There are times I literally will myself to work a 15 to 16 hour shift just to make an extra $20—how sad is that. I don’t even get a lunch break—no 15-minute break. Although 54th Street Bar and Grill managers—we refer to the establishment as Five Four--a.k.a. Satan’s followers, do allow me a chance to eat, I have to do so in a mere 10 minute allotted time frame because I still have tables that require my utmost attention. I mean, heaven forbid, I forget to bring that sixth Coke that she requested. Believe me, her fat ass does not need it.

I stand at the entry of the server side station that opens to the dining room. What greet me are a mess of 54th coasters, a lack-there-of number of oversized togo boxes and two lonely computers. Thinking that I should strap on my apron, or my so-called guns, and get to work, I negate that thought because let’s face it if I were to clock in now, Satan’s followers would simply roll back my time and I would receive a quote-unquote lashing from Satan himself, that being my general manager, Tye. Taking a visual note of inventory again, I could begin my side duties which would include stocking the server side station, but why on earth would I begin it if I were not getting paid. Besides the company has screwed my fellow servers and me over and over and over again in the last four years that I have worked here, why should I help them out?

So I wait out the next 15 minutes by hanging out at the bar, reading “Push” by Sapphire. I pass occasional glances at the large, digital clock that rests behind the bar reminding late night customers that they must be out by or before 1:30 a.m. That is the law in St. Joseph. And who is 54th to break the rules…

Around 3:57 p.m., I strap on my guns and walk toward the server side station to where I put my book and purse away. To work, I must go.

There are two tables that must be greeted….30 to 60 seconds that is 54th’s policy.

I greet Table 11 first and begin the word play of a robotic server.

Hi, how are we doing today?

Fine, thank you. And yourself?

Great! My name is Amy and I will be taking care of you this afternoon. Would you like to begin with something to drink today such as a Coke product, ice tea or something from the bar such as a Bud Light?

Two ice teas, please.

Would you like to begin with an appetizer of Gringo Dip and Chips?

No, thank you.

I will have your drinks right up, folks!

(They seem nice, I think to myself. Then again, just because they look nice, does not mean a good tip for myself. Still, I will treat them just as I do any other table. Top notch.)

Do you have any questions about the menu that I may answer for you?

No, we do not.

Would you like some more time with the menus then?

No, we are ready to order.

Person 1: I would like the Three Cheese Burger.

How would you like your Three Cheese Burger prepared?

Person 1: Medium.

Would you like to upgrade to our Sweet Potato Fries or Waffle Fries and Gringo Dip?

Person 1: Sweet Potato Fries sound delicious. I would like those.

And for you, sir?

Person 2: I would like the Smokey Mountain Burger.

How would you like your Smokey Mountain Burger prepared?

Person 2: Medium well.

Would you like to upgrade to our Sweet Potato Fries or Waffle Fries and Gringo Dip?

Person 2: Just fries.

Thank you! That will be right up for you folks!

(By this time, I am getting sick of the monotonous, verbatim script I have to give to every table. Yes, I mean every table. In recent weeks, we, meaning my fellow servers and I, have been threatened with our jobs if we do not recite this exact script to every table. Not even a write-up. Sounds ludicrous. Well it does to me.)

10 minutes later…

How does everything look for you?

Good!

May I get anything else for you?

No, thank you.

Enjoy!

5 Minutes later…

How is everything?

Really good.

Great!

10 minutes later…

May I interest you in a House Cake?

Person 2: No, we are stuffed.

I will be your cashier whenever you are ready to pay. Please take your time.

Thank you.

I will be right back with your credit card receipt.

Have a nice evening! Thank you for coming in this afternoon.

Person 2: Thank you. You were very efficient!

Why thank you, sir!

Ah, suhweeeet, I say to myself. That was a nice table unlike what may mirror the rest of my evening of shitty tippers. They even left me a great tip--$6 on a $23 tab!

I decide to tell Tye, my GM, about the compliment I received (yes, because I can be a brown-noser).

Hey, Tye, Table 11 said that I was very efficient!

(In a James Bond-like voice, he says): I know. You are a great server. Amy-Robot. Amy-bot.

I suddenly realized I was just that. A robot—a mindless drone that I resented. Wow, I’m a hypocrite, I thought. I didn’t think that efficient meant that I was a robot, which is what 54th prides its servers on. Nix individuality, which is what I like in a server when I go out to eat. Even if I get bad service, I still tip 15 percent because I am a server and a believer in karma. I know what servers go through. However, if I receive excellent service, I award accordingly and I like individuality, which I would think that is what most customers would want in a server. 54th, on the other hand, does not. I thought ever so carefully about the compliment I had received from 11 and decidedly nixed it as an insult. Efficient or not, I am a good server, not a robot.

Fuck 54th, I’m an individual.