Day Shift, Night Shift

Day Shift, Night Shift
By
Phoenix MaryGrace Hocking


Most waitresses usually have money in their pockets. Good waitresses can make a pretty good chunk of change in a normal shift. Bad waitresses, not so much.
Me? I usually had a nice jingle going on.
‘Course, this was back in the olden days, when ten percent was considered a good tip instead of a mean one, and a dollar bill under an empty plate was high praise. Today waitresses stick those dollars in their pockets and one never knows whether they’re a good waitress or a bad one by lookin’. Back then, if a waitress bulged with coin like a kangaroo you asked for her station.
In addition to other places, I worked at Sambo’s. First, let me tell you, Sambo’s in no way meant to offend anybody. The name itself came from the two owners: Sam Battistone and Joe Bohnett. And for another thing, the Little Black Sambo of the children’s story wasn’t black; he was brown. And he wasn’t from Africa; he was from India.
But it wasn’t political correctness that drove Sambo’s out of business; it was greed. Opened too many restaurants in too short a length of time and the pyramid just couldn’t hold the weight. I think there’s only one left now – the original Sambo’s down on the beach in Santa Barbara. Still makes the best pancakes in town.
You see a lot of weird things waitressing. I ‘member one night, working graveyard, we had to ask one strange guy down at the end of the counter to leave because he was carving the initials of the girlfriend who dumped him into his arm. Grossed out the patrons, not to mention the staff. T’warn’t pretty.
I’ve often wondered whatever happened to him; if he ever got his girlfriend back, or if he just wandered out of the restaurant into his own dark night of the soul. I’ll never know, of course. Maybe he’ll read this and let me know how (or if) he’s doin’.
Used to have this one fella come in – tiny little guy. Sweet natured, but a little odd. That fella could put away food like nobody’s business. No joke – one night he put away three cheese omelets, two steaks and an order of pancakes, all in one sitting. Tipped good.
Then there was the guy who came in one afternoon wearing swim flippers on his feet. Came in, sat down at the counter, ordered and drank a cup of coffee, paid his bill and left. Ten minutes later here comes two kids from UC Santa Barbara, reporting on their “experiment” for their psychology class. “What did you think?” they asked. Most folks just shrugged – this was California remember – “Think about what?”
I think one of the most embarrassing moments was when this lady came in hauling three little kids behind her. Cute kids, but you could tell they were scared to death. She walked right up to this man and a woman sitting in a back booth and let them have it. Started yelling and crying and calling him a cheating, lying…well, you get the picture. You’ve never heard a place outside of church get so quiet. Lord, but you could have heard a pin drop. Nobody would look at them, of course, but everybody was listenin’, I’ll tell you that. Myself included. I mean, I wasn’t about to go up to her in a mood like that – and besides, the cheating, lying creep had it coming. If he was embarrassed, all the better.
She finally left, dragging the crying kids with her, and immediately after the man and his mistress left too. He at least had the decency to look embarrassed; she just looked stunned. Another one of those “unfinished business” stories you’ll just never know the end to.
Funny things happen too, though. Like the little kid who rushed out of the bathroom and ran clear the length of the restaurant yelling, “I went potty all by myself!” much to the mortification of his mother who’s face was glowing like an electric burner.
I think the best money I ever made was the night I went to work when I had larangytis. I didn’t feel bad, I just couldn’t talk. So, I made up some three-by-five cards – “What kind of dressing would you like with that?” and “Dessert?” and “What can I get you to drink?” Folks must have felt sorry for me because I made money hand-over-fist.
Far and away the stupidest thing I ever saw involved another waitress who didn’t have the brains God gave a turnip. She actually put her entire hand on the burner of the coffee machine to see if it was hot. Blistered the bejeebers out of her hand. That wasn’t the stupid part, though. In explaining to the boss why she needed to go to the hospital to get treated, she showed the boss what she had done – with the other hand. Lord, have mercy.
I come from a long line of waitresses. My Mom was a waitress; my sister was a waitress. And me. Mom worked at this little truck stop just off Highway 101. That was before you couldn’t get all the way through Santa Barbara without stopping at a traffic light on the freeway. The Signal Café – that was the name of the place – it’s been a while, you understand, and sometimes my memory fails me. We lived right behind the place, and after school I’d sit and do my homework in one of the booths.
She worked other places, too, before her feet gave out and she went into electronics. We used to have this dog, Lassie by name (you can figure out the date…, I ain’t tellin’…) who would just wait for Mom to take her shoes off after a hard day’s work so she could lick Mom’s feet. Gross…but Mom seemed to like it. So did Lassie.
I consider my sister to be probably one of the best waitresses who ever lived. Man, she was fast, but could still make a customer feel like they were the only ones in the place. She’s the one who taught me how to waitress for real, and I couldn’t have had a better teacher.
Let me tell you about my very first waitressing job. I was, oh gosh, maybe fourteen. I know I had to have a work permit. Anyway, I got a job at this little restaurant down on lower State street, working a few hours after school. I liked it; I really did. I liked the work, and I really liked having my own money.
Well, I hadn’t been working there but a few days when it all came to screeching halt. I had run down to Thrifty’s after work to buy a new apron (waitresses used to wear aprons back then), and when I got back my mother grabbed me and said, “We’re leaving, and you’re never coming back!”
When pressed for details I found out that while she was waiting for me at the counter some raggedy old drunk came in, plopped himself down next to her, caught the owner’s eye and slurred, “Hey, whersh that pretty little thing ya got workin’ for ya?” So much for my first job.
Waitressing may not seem like anybody’s dream job, but I’ll tell ya, waitressing teaches you stuff you don’t learn anywhere else. Like how to be nice to people you’d just as soon clop up one side of the head for being jerks.
Waitressing teaches you to say “You wanna drink this or wear it?” instead of pouring hot coffee in a customer’s lap the first time some idiot pinches you on the butt.
Waitressing teaches you how to make change without the help of a computer or a calculator. Fancy that!
Waitressing teaches you that the harder you work and the nicer you are, the more money you make.
Waitressing teaches you that everybody, but everybody has a story; some are better than yours and some are worse, but everybody’s story deserves an audience.
People sometimes make fun of jobs that seem to be dead-end. McJob ain’t in the dictionary for nothin’. But waitressing as a first job, or even a career? Hey, you could do worse. Trust me, you could do lots worse.