dragonlady7

It is dark and sort of brooding this morning-- i rather think there will be storms.
I hope there aren't many delays. i sort of don't want to work hard today.

I wrote a long thing on elmwoodstrip about why I still don't have a car. I went off on a long tangent about class/racial tensions at my job as well.

I was thinking, this morning in the shower, about things to do with work-- but more about questions like what makes a good server and what makes a good customer. I used to think it was just me, some of the attitudes I have-- I am a contrary person, a wilful person, and am excessively bound by pride and a sharp temper. But lately I've been in a good mood at work, despite it being ridiculously busy, and so I've been doing pretty well at being a charming and cheerful waitress.
And various of my coworkers have confirmed, by things they've said, that they feel similarly to how I do. It is no great hardship, and in fact is even pleasant, to wait upon polite people. It feels good to make people happy who are nice to you, and it is no trouble at all to go to great lengths to procure for them things they want. However, for a rude customer, or one who has rubbed the wrong way, even the simplest thing is a chore.
What separates the good customers from the bad ones? (And for that matter who needs waitstaff anyway? Why do we do this?)

A great deal of it is their perceived attitude. Someone who treats you as a servant immediately puts a bad taste in your mouth. The entire encounter becomes hateful. Waitresses are not servants, who are obliged to perform menial tasks and must defer to higher-status masters. No. We are a hostess at whose table you are a guest-- but you are paying for the privelege, and so the dynamic is shifted slightly. There is no awkwardness of precedence, because we are not eating with you: we are there to make sure you eat and are happy, because you will in turn reward us in money. Not just for the food itself, which is at a fixed price and ought to be well-prepared enough to be worth it.

And money does not cheapen or coarsen the encounter. It is not a crass commercial exchange. There is a perception, ironic enough in our cash-driven society, that money is meaningless. It is not. Money is not the everything people make it out to be, but it is very important and is a key underpinning to many social interactions. Manners and social interactions are a form of currency, and money ties into that. The very popularity of tipping implies that: we value money as a part of manners. And so, you pay us, and we give you our hospitality. The encounter is far from meaningless: customers and I make one another's days all the time. The money removes any awkwardness about hidden motives. We understand who wants what and who is getting what, and all goes smoothly. I am a cheerful and friendly hostess who ensures the diner that his meal will be a pleasant one: the diner leaves me money and I make a good living which is why I am so cheerful and friendly, because I am not worried about my rent bill. I am a highly-paid professional. [Which maybe is why I am so cocky that it raises my hackles to be treated as a servant, but, well, as I observed on e:strip in the entry above, I have been making $30/hr. this week.)

I was thinking the other day on how entirely unneccessary it is to have a waitress at all. Our big restaurant has a takeout service from which many people get their food and then go and sit in the table service section to eat it. They don't need us. Fully half the restaurant's business or more is done without the help of us waitstaff.
And yet people still want table service, and are willing to pay for it. Because, of course, the service costs: it is not a number on the bill, but an expectation that you will leave an additional percentage of the bill in order to recompense your hostess for taking care of you.
And there have been waitstaff as long as there have been restaurants, because food and drink are not about nourishment. Eating and drinking are fraught with social meaning. Getting your food from a cashier on a tray and sitting alone to eat it is unrewarding. It is worth a few extra dollars to have someone help you get situated at a table, make sure you understand the menu and know what is offered, make you something to drink just to your specifications, and in general take trouble to understand your desires and see them fulfilled.

But we aren't servants. We just want you to be comfortable at our table. Because we want you to pay us for our exceptional manners. And the point of tipping is that the customer should be happy to do it. I know when I tip I feel good, even if I don't see the waitress's reaction. (And you shouldn't see it. It is ungenteel to make a fuss over money. We were discussing that at work as well: we don't like to talk about money, except maybe with each other in immediate terms ["wow he left me thirty-five percent!" "Look, eighteen cents on a thirty-dollar bill."]. It feels awkward, mercenary, grasping, to mention money to customers or to outsiders who enquire about the business. When someone says, "You're busy! I bet you're making a ton of money," it feels like someone has said something crude, and I struggle for a polite answer. I usually just smile and shrug. I don't know what to say.

Anyway. That's what I was ruminating upon this fine dark stuffy brooding morning.

I am enroute to an opening shift at work. Did I mention? My schedule is being changed, with my consent. It's a bit of a pay cut, but not significantly. I will work Tuesdays through Saturdays, and have Sundays off. Which means I get to do roller derby, and I get to spend a whole! day! a week! with Z! Oh my God.
And instead of working 11-7 on Saturdays, I'll be working 9-3-- which means all kinds of freedom!
And I am suddenly feeling like I've blogged this before, but my joy knows so few bounds that redundancy will not quell it.
All right, I need to go get dressed.