14/11/10
So, my first night back on the floor after about 15 years off it was not going very well at all.
In the first couple of hours I had been there, I had been made an example of in front of an established staff who I already knew “did not always receive newcomers positively,” because my shoes weren’t black enough. To demonstrate my enthusiasm I had gone and purchased a pair of $200 boots that I couldn’t afford. The bar guy had turned my iron off while I was still using it and now I was wearing an unflattering uniform about 3 sizes too big, slightly crinkled. I had stood like a child in front of the Manager and the Manageress while they adjusted my uniform the way it should be worn; I couldn’t understand a word my supervisor was saying and so was missing some no doubt important information about service and table numbers and had just been told my hair was wrong and that I had to go and fix it.
You have to understand, I have very high expectations of myself. I don’t commit myself to something unless I believe I can contribute and excel; and even deep-down knowing that everything so far was the result of me not knowing what was required, this is about where I began to feel like I was failing.
Stan the supervisor and the blonde trainee looked at me, and then my hair, while the Manageress told me it wasn’t right. Thank God I had a hair tie in my bag. I made a quick exit back to the staff bathroom and put it up.
I marched out of the bathroom straight into the manageress. Shit. Was she following me around? Probably.
“Are you wearing a black bra?”
“A black sports bra.”
“I can see it through your shirt.”
“Can you? Is that a problem?”
“It’s a muslin shirt; you need to wear a white bra underneath it.”
(FFS I didn’t know our shirts would be white and see-through else I would have worn a white bra. Do you think I deliberately wore a black bra so people would see it through my shirt?!)
What I actually said was;
“Sorry.”
She looked at me like I was a lost cause. “Go and find Stan.”
Stan and the blonde were standing on the floor looking like they were waiting for a late bus. Me. Destination Dumbville.
“So,” he said. “You’re on your own now.” Start serving from the pass and from the bar. If you have any questions, come and find me.”
Yeah, I have a question Stan. What did I miss?
Confidence crumbling I headed for the bar rather than the pass. Drinks are easier to manoeuvre than dishes and I figured that while I had the opportunity, I’d serve drinks to familiarise myself with table numbers and the restaurant layout. Within about 15 minutes I’d got myself into a bit of a rhythm on the floor; the new footwear was so-far-so-good and I was enjoying the fast pace between tables. Occasionally I found myself riding on a rush, smiling as I returned from a group of happy customers, a flash back to my time as a waitress at “Mosso”, in the popular café culture / snob-eatery suburb Herne Bay in Auckland. That was a great fun time.
Returning from a table of four who I had wholeheartedly humoured with my Kiwi accent, I passed Stan and the Manageress who became suspiciously hushed upon my approach; not before I heard her mentioning my name. I made eye contact and back-tracked, walking backwards in my new boots to where they stood.
“Is everything okay?”
The manageress looked at me like I’d stumped her plan. She probably would have preferred if Stan was the messenger.
“I was just saying to Stan, that, because it’s busy…”
Spit it out spit it out
“… and we don’t have a system…”
Clearly. Spit it out I can handle it.
“… if we could concentrate you on this quarter of the restaurant only…”
Here we go.
“… your shirt is wrinkled. We can’t have you in the VIP area. Please stay at the back-end of the restaurant for the rest of the night.”
Are you serious?!
“Stan. It might be best if she just follows you around and observes. If you have to go to the VIP area, don’t take her with you.”
Awkward extended moment as I looked at her then him, then her, digesting the information and trying to maintain my composure. I could feel the tears welling.
“Okay, cool,” I said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
My heart began to race as I headed straight for the bathroom. I shut the door behind me, took deep breaths and tried to get myself together. Fail. Tears.
One friend said he would have left at the shoe scolding. Another said she would have left at the black bra. There in the bathroom, I had finally got to the point where all I wanted to do was rip off my apron and walk out the door.
Consequences. Consider the consequences. If you walk out now, here’s how the story ends. You were the girl who couldn’t handle the pressure. You were the girl who cried and ran away. You don’t have a job. Do you really want to go home and tell Dave that you walked away because it was all too hard?
Nope.
A knock at the bathroom door. It was Stan.
“Darrlink! You in there?”
A cheery “Yes! (gulp) On my way!”
I looked in the mirror. My eyes were red. Like I was stoned. Not that I’d know of course, but I bet if I was stoned, that’s what they’d look like.
Another knock. It was her.
“Lisa?”
In a millisecond I composed myself and opened the door, smiling.
“Yes?”
“Everything alright?”
“Hm-hmm.” I could feel my eyes stinging again.
Awkward.
“It’s not going very well, is it?”
Ok, I have to say it.
“No it’s not. I’m trying to do everything right, but everything I do is wrong.”
“I’m sorry I’ve made you feel like that but we need to address these things.”
“I know you do, I understand that, I just wish I knew about things like the shoes and the shirt and hair before I got started. Would you like me to go home and come back tomorrow?”
“No.”
Dammit.
“Take a couple of minutes then go and find Stan.”
Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. Then what I said was;
“Okay. Thanks.”
The night kind of continued downhill from there. Well, okay, it started down hill. With my confidence fully conquered and some paranoia about what they were saying about me, let’s just say it continued downhill, gaining momentum.
You know the waitress with the full plates, wandering up and down rows, looking for table numbers? That was me. Looking for numbers I couldn’t find. (They probably covered that, in French.)
Rapped over the knuckles for not pouring the beer into the glass on the tray (Probably something I’d missed in French)
Then, pouring beer into the glass while it was on the tray, I tipped the tray and smashed a glass.
I was delegated to cutlery cleaning with a group of other “runners” toward the end of the night to deal with a cutlery shortage.
“We need cutlery urgently,” said the Manageress. “Whatever happens, stay here and get it out.”
Then I was told off for not running a dessert.
I tweeted earlier in the day that I felt like 17 again. By now, I’m about 12.
Signing off at 10.30pm, I thanked Stan for his help and patience and bid goodbye to a friendly bunch of more approachable juniors I’d met at the cutlery stand. They asked when I’d be back. I said, “I really don’t know.”
I called Dave and asked him to open a bottle of wine before he came to pick me up, then stood outside observing a Friday night I never see. Sydney Harbour - a beautiful backdrop to lots and lots of drunk people.
Will I go back? I’ve got a call to make to the Boss this afternoon, so I guess that’s up to him. If they give me the opportunity, I think I will.
I will, because even after 20 years in a profession that for some time blessed me with the lifestyle to be a customer at restaurants like this one, I’m not so ignorant or arrogant to understand that if I want to prove myself in a new industry, I will have to start at the bottom.
If they don’t want me back, then I’ll bow out proud. I can wrap up this chapter knowing that I gave it a damn good shot. I’m certainly better off than I would have been if I hadn’t followed through. I had a few knock-backs, I went back in. Some people tried to hinder me, I didn’t back down. I learned a lot about hospitality and customer expectation and I gained a whole new respect for the professional wait staff that make places like this one, landmark experiences in this beautiful city.
Look, I’m a big fan of focus. I’d love to be able to say “This is what I’m good at so that’s what I’m going to do”, but I’ve recently had a reality check that the job I used to love, doesn’t really exist any more. It’s become the place of hacks and Yes Men and I am neither. It’s probably time for me to take my skill set somewhere else, where I can develop it and contribute.
So, I’ve decided I’m absolutely open to opportunity right now. I’ll create the opportunities by ticking off my To Do and as it knocks, I’ll answer.
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