Yes, I'm now a waitress. I've crossed over into the mysterious land of food service, and I've become one of them. Yes, I've become one of those people who weight our aprons with so many pens, notepads, mints, and towels that we appear to be carrying a small child in our pockets. A small, bulgy child. One of those people who shout for joy on the inside when they see a large, nicely-dressed group of people sit in their section, and have to contain their grin when the pricey alcohol orders start flowing. One of those people who think, "I won't write it down, I'll remember that, it's just an English Breakfast and 2 double cappachinos"...and then shamefacedly has to traipse back to the table to double check the order because we're second-guessing ourselves. And even better, because I'm still new, I'm also now one of those people who when questioned, recommends dishes to a customer that I've never even tried. But hey, the menu description sounds delicious!
Today was my first real day as a waitress, no more training or baby steps, I had a normal section to myself. Yesterday I had a small section of only 3 tables, and over the course of the whole day made a measly 53 rand. Which, when converted to dollars, is about $8 or so. For 9 hours of work...yeah. The problem is that here in South Africa, the convention is to only tip 10%, and I only got 6 or 7 tables the whole day. I just try and avoid converting the money into dollars, because that's when things get depressing. On the bright side, I do spirit away a few handfuls of Endearmints away with me at the end of the day, which I guess might add about $2 onto my total yield, but still, that's not much. The "season" rush that everybody at the restaurant has been talking about (aka freaking out about) apparently hasn't hit yet, but when it does I've been told that we'll enter the tip promise land, so that's exciting.
The language barrier hasn't been much of a problem so far. I'd say about 75% of customers start off by speaking to me in Afrikaans, and after the blank look on my face and my polite "pardon?" they repeat themselves in English. About a third of all my tables ask me where I'm from, or inquire about my accent, which on one hand is nice, because I can chat a bit with the customer (better tips!) but on the other hand if I'm running around with things to do, discussing my family history and holiday plans etc. can be a little too time consuming. I have come across 2 Americans in the last few days, and we always bond, so that's been nice. Barbara from Colorado and Jodi from Georgia, both married to South Africans and living here, believe it or not. I do enjoy hearing that familiar twang, I have to say.
The problem with working in a restaurant that doubles as a bakery is that all day I'm surrounded by fresh bread and assorted desserts that slowly revolve in a glass display case. At times I feel like I'm a dog who's mesmerized by a meaty hamburger, except that what I'm drooling over is a chocolate strawberry cheesecake or chocolate ganache cupcake. Each time I walk past the baker on my way to drop off dirty dishes in the kitchen, and I catch a glimpse of what she's working on, the decadence of her creations almost stop me in my tracks. Well, sometimes I do stop in my tracks, actually, and am occasionally rewarded with a taste or an off-cut. But not very often. We are allowed to eat a "lunch" of bread and butter, so in a snatched moment when I don't have any tables, or my customers are busy eating, I go and slice myself a door-stop piece of ciabatta or fresh brown bread to eat in the back. The only problem with this is that in the last week, my dietary stable has become bread. Bread for lunch, and free bread left at the end of the day as part of my dinner. Thank goodness we don't get any desserts for free, or I'd really be in trouble!
Even though I'm definitely still a novice, and have a lot to learn, I haven't made any terrible mistakes yet. Well, now that I say that, I'll probably really put my foot in it tomorrow. But the worst I've done is walk up to a table when you think they're finished with their coffee to ask if they'd like more, and their cup is still half full, I just couldn't see it. Then, you're standing there awkwardly, cursing yourself, and are forced to say something lame like, "is everything alright?" because it's next to impossible to see how full a coffee cup is unless you're standing right next to it. I think this happens to all of the waiters though, however experienced. Another good one is walking up to collect the bill when they haven't put anything in it yet. Oops, that's awkward. If it's closed, how was I supposed to know?! But anyhow, you live and you learn!
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