I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I learned a lot working at Day’s Inn.  I could write a novel about all the things that went on there.  

I’ll get to them in time.

The one thing that it did give me, was my first experience waiting tables.  

I got to work one day, to discover the woman who was supposed to serve that night wasn’t able to make it, and I was tasked with moving to the floor.  

First came the uniform change.  

Black pants.  White shirt.  Black shoes.  Red vest.  And a clip-on bow tie.  

It was as sexy as you think it was.    

100% polyester.  

100% exactly what a 17-year-old boy wants to wear at work.  I was terrified someone I knew was going to come in and see me in my uniform. 

I was given about 6 minutes of training.  

Then I was pushed off the deep end.  

I was terrified.  

I approached my first table.  Took a breath and said hello.

I was in my head.  I couldn’t think.  I couldn’t breathe.

I asked if they’d like something to drink, but I couldn’t hear them because of the chatter in my brain. 

Eventually I got them drinks.  A sweet tea and a cup of coffee.  

Taking the food order was worse, and I knew the food.  

I forgot the questions to ask.  I forgot to write down the sides.  I forgot to breathe, again.  

I got through it.  

And I pushed on.

Eventually 9 it was 9:00.  The sun had set.  It was dark outside.  

The woman I was working with, lit a cigarette and began the task of showing me how to close up.  

Restockthe side stations.  Break down the soda station.   Empty the coffee pots and clean them with salt and ice.  Put the bread away.  Turn off the bread warmer.  Set the tables for breakfast the next day.  

Finally, we sat down to count our riches.  

By today’s standards it was pennies.  Well to be honest quarters.  This was the time of, keep the changes, which was a $1.75.  Or you went to clean the table and there was 75 cents under the coffee cup.  

Somewhere, I have calendars that I used to record my earnings while I was waiting tables.  From this first job at Day’s Inn to my last job at the Hard Rock Café.  

I would record my earnings when I’d get home so that I’d have an idea of how much I was really making, as we all know, servers aren’t great at reporting their tips.  

I’m 99% sure these calendars are in a box, in the top of my office closet.  

That first day, I couldn’t have made more than 25 bucks.  

As I said.  Mostly in quarters.  

But it was real money.  In my hand.  At the end of the night.  And it was more than I’d have made washing dishes or cooking that night.  I was done an hour early.  

It was the beginning of getting bitten by the server bug.  

I didn’t wait tables often, but I always enjoyed the jingle of the coins in my pocket as I drove home.    

I’d walk through the door and drop the coins in a jar.  And put the dollars in a drawer.  

I’d keep it there until I had enough to make it worth going to the bank.  

I never got rich waiting tables at Day’s Inn, but it gave me enough experience to make it possible to fake my way through waiting tables when I applied for a server job in Atlanta.