If you hate your job the worst part is the beginning of the shift when you get back from the weekend. In this case it was Wednesday, since at my least favourite restaurant I worked Wednesdays to Sundays during the evenings, and got Mondays and Tuesdays off. This was good for the money, as these were the best shifts, but it also meant my friends rarely wanted to go out during the early part of the week. But this was my life for two years and every Wednesday around 4 p.m. I always dragged my heels and sighed as I entered the restaurant.
***
However, one Wednesday I hoped to make the best of things and decided to try having fun for the first shift of the week. I’d even gotten up early, went for a walk, had a healthy meal, and was better dressed than usual. I walked in smiling and with so much energy the supervisor initially thought I was high.
But after a few pleasantries he gave me the first bad news of the day: “The hostess called in sick, so you’ll have to seat all your customers,” he said without shame. Normally I’d roll my eyes and scoff at what was a common occurrence at this establishment, but I’d committed to making this a great day so I said “okay, I got it boss.” By then he must have really thought I was high.
Then he gave me more bad news: “The server in the 50s and 60s section is going to be 15 minutes late, so you’ll have to take whatever tables come in before she gets here.” He must have seen a subtle shift in my body language, perhaps a tiny squinting of the eyes or a bit of tension building in my shoulders. However, I quickly banished any negative emotions from my being, convinced I could make this work.
“Understood,” I told him. “Which reminds me,” he finished with one last Parthian Shot, “a table has been waiting there for 5 minutes and no one has approached them.” A crack finally let loose in my armour. “What do you mean no one has approached them… not even yo…” I stopped before getting accusatory with my boss. Instead, I decided the best way to maintain my unusual positive disposition was to jump into work and go straight to the waiting table.
Any other day, especially my de facto Monday, I’d be pissed off by now. To have to play host because we couldn’t hire a reliable one. To compensate for a late employee and take tables in the dining room, which tipped far less than in the lounge. And to have to approach a potentially hostile table that had been ignored for 300 seconds after being seated. That may not seem like a long time but when customers wait more than a few minutes for service, while seeing multiple staff walk by and ignore them, they often get resentful.
***
Anyway, I decided to put this all behind me, especially since I was used to being the shock trooper who picked up the slack from employees that were mediocre AT BEST. So I brought two menus and two coasters to the table right away, greeted them, and explained the specials. Then I looked at the man, a white guy probably in his 50s and said “what can I get for you buddy?” These words would prove to be poorly chosen.
“I ain’t your buddy,” he said in an obviously dismissive and annoyed manner. Either he was having a bad day, was tired of waiting, or maybe he was just a miserable prick. Taken aback by his response, I said “fair enough” in a neutral tone and went to the kitchen to get the couple water. As soon as I entered the room my joyous demeanour finally collapsed. My shift had only begun five minutes earlier.
“God damn it,” I think I said to myself, “I hate people sometimes.” For the umpteenth time I remembered that no matter how well you treat people that some of them will still suck. My mood imploded… I was bitter at the host for not bothering to show up, displeased at the waitress for being late, resentful towards the supervisor who always tolerated this, and angry at my first customer of the day.
Thus I embraced my dark side, the stereotypical surly bartender who won’t put up with anyone’s shit, even the slightest insult. I got the man’s water, walked swiftly to the table, and slammed the glass on it right in front of him. Then I took off without a word and decided to let them cool their heels for a while. Because sometimes waiting on tables means we make the customers wait instead. I didn’t care if I wouldn’t get a tip, or if they complained. I’d merely tell my boss they were probably not happy having to wait (as no one bothered approaching them before I got there) and that the man lied about me slamming down his drink.
***
Having made my point, not so subtly, I returned to the table in a more professional manner, but with a confident swagger to imply I wouldn’t tolerate more rudeness. Yet this only worked to a degree. While the man wasn’t as outright obnoxious as before, he compensated by being slightly difficult and wanting too many modifications. He wasn’t rude per se but acted in a calculated manner to remind me customers still have power and agency, and that he wouldn’t be intimidated either. We’d reached an equilibrium… or a balance of power, which suited me fine; I was okay with the status quo… of them leaving without complaining or making a scene.
However, this detente didn’t last as either the kitchen screwed up their meal, I made an honest mistake, or the guy was just having a rotten day. So when he got more irritable again and started being rude I changed tact… alternating between sarcasm and excessive kindness… the kind where it’s obvious you’re trying to piss people off.
Eventually they left… I can’t remember if they tipped as someone else took payment. But as the guy walked out I made sure to wave and holler “thanks for coming in, I hope you enjoy the rest of your day.” He rewarded me with a scowl and the next day my supervisor called me into the office. The man had emailed them a complaint… but thankfully he’d only mentioned the part about being called “buddy.” I guess that pissed him off more than my sarcasm and slapping down a drink in front of him. We both laughed and I “promised” to never call a customer buddy again… which was hardly a sacrifice on my part.
***
A month or two later the couple came back and the man couldn’t have been more pleasant and kind. Given that he wasn’t in my section but was still nice (as he could’ve just ignored me) he likely just had a bad day last time. As he was being the bigger man I reciprocated, making sure to run his food and check up on them a few times, to make sure he had a less… contentious experience this time.
Ten years later I laugh at us both. Why should he have gotten upset over a silly greeting and why should I have let that eat away at my professionalism? For him it was probably some idiosyncrasy but for me it had been the culmination of years of frustration towards the industry in general, and the first five disappointing minutes on that Wednesday shift in particular.
Because a lot can happen in five minutes. Relationships can end due to a five minute argument. A five minute interview can make or break a career. The Battle of Midway, the turning point of the Pacific War, was decided when American dive bombers crippled three Japanese carriers in five minutes!
And in my career five minutes is often all it took for misery and pessimism to steal defeat from the jaws of a more happy and optimistic work day. But it would take another seven years before I left the industry to understand just how tired, angry, and bitter it had made me.