I’m an actor and a writer. I’m also
a waiter. Over the last nine years or so of running down my dream from college
to New York, the service industry has provided my living when my craft and my
passion could not. I spend most of my days dreaming about a phone call. It's
call from my manager. She tells me that my pilot sold or that I was offered
this role or that role and that I should head into work and give them my two weeks
notice, because I don't have to be a server anymore. Instead, just a writer and
an actor.
The truth is that the
service industry has been very good to me. It’s taught me life lessons that
I’ll carry with me forever, as well as allowing me to form relationships with
some truly incredible people. Industry people in general are hardworking,
passionate, crazy, students of human nature. They’re chefs and servers and
artists and poets. They’re in at 3pm done at 1am, drink-drink-drink, rinse wash
repeat people. Good people. My people. The best part of the restaurant business
for me has always been my co-workers. We’re in the foxhole together every day
battling our enemies and trying back home again.
I began waiting tables
while I was in college. I knew that it would be a while before I was able to
make any real money as an actor and that I’d need something to get by on. I
can’t sit in an office all day. Nothing against it, I’m just not that guy. So,
since I love clichés, I thought I’d give serving a shot. I started at an
Applebee’s in Bloomsburg, Pennsylvania. Nine years later, here I am working at
one of the best restaurants in New York City. Although I hope and pray for my
television career to take off soon, I'm am beyond grateful for the job that I currently
have.
I can’t even begin count
the number of times over the years that some idiot customer has made a comment
to me regarding my weight. Every time it happens I’m amazed by it. Why do
people think that it’s okay to make a comment like that to someone they don’t
know? Most of them are all the same. They typically go something like this:
Me: Did you have any
questions about the menu?
Customer: What do you
recommend? You obviously like to eat.
When the fuck did that
become okay? Why do people think it's just fine to say something like that? I
never recommend something to a table based solely in a
few physical details. It'd be like me saying, "Sir, you look
like you could use another martini. It's obvious that your Upper East Side
stretched/shiny face, cunt wife has been sucking the life out of you these last
few years, the same way she's been sucking the fat out of her own
ass."
Okay, I mean, I get it.
Actually, a very stupid woman put this into perspective for my about a year
ago. This was the conversation:
Stupid Woman: You seem
like you really love food.
Me: Who doesn't love
food?
Stupid Woman: So are you
a chef?
(I don't know
what restaurants this bitch has been to in the past where a chef was
cooking the food, as well as taking her order, and bringing her a diet coke.)
Me: Um, no. I'm a
server.
Stupid Woman: So, you
just like to eat. That's why you do this job?
She wasn't trying to be cruel.
She was a moron, but not cruel. She taught me something actually. I guess I'm
fairly professional at work. I know my shit. I want to give my customers a good
experience. I'm in charge of their time and they can never get that back so I
do my best to make that time count. I guess that most people assume the
following; He's a good waiter. He must really love this business. He
must really love food. I get that. That's why I never let a comment
like that woman’s bother me too much. They don't know me. They don't know
anything about my life or what I'm doing with it. I let that stuff roll
off my back. Thankfully, I haven't gotten one of those in a while.
Also, since we're
talking about shit people say to servers I should point something out. Many of
the people I work with, work in the service industry because the absolutely
love it. They're passionate about food, wine, and hospitality the same way that
I am about writing and acting. They're hard working, extremely intelligent
individuals. So, don't assume that every server is only doing it while they're
searching for their passion. Restaurants are their passion. Remember
that the next time you're about to ask your waiter, "So, what do you
really want to do?"
Okay, back to my own
personal customer interactions. There was one comment a customer made to me a
few months back that I'll never forget. It's the reason for this post. In some
ways, it's the reason for this blog and all the changes I've been trying to make
lately.
I spent this past winter
working at a place on the Upper East Side owned by a friend of mine. An upscale
Mediterranean spot called, Amali. Amali attracted a certain type
of clientele; New Yorkers with Clout. Masters of the island universe known
as Manhattan. Doctors, Lawyers, Bankers, Politicians, and famous folks,
all regulars at Amali.
This story is about one
regular in particular. A gentleman named, Peter. Peter was in his
sixties. He was big in stature, well over six feet, with a beard. He always
wore a turtleneck under a blue blazer and walked with a cane. He looked as if
he was a retired professor of sorts. He was crazy smart, extremely
well spoken, well read, and well mannered. Most of the time he would come in for
dinner with his wife and friends of theirs.
Peter was also a wine
geek. He always brought in two or three of his own bottles. We never charged
him corkage and he always shared with the staff. The bottles he brought in were
ridiculous on several levels. For example, one night he brought in a 1978
Sutter Home Zinfandel (Yup, I know.) that he asked us to open before moving on
to the 1983 Margaux he’d also brought. The Sutter Home, ROCKING good believe it
or not.
Peter was in at least once a week during my last month at Amali.
He was almost always the last table in the place, but he was also always very
kind and insistent on sharing his awesome booze with us so we didn't
mind.
It was my last day at
Amali, a Sunday. On Sundays we were generally pretty slow and I was usually the
only server on the floor. This Sunday however, we were busy. The room was full
with nearly every VIP I'd ever waited on while I was working there. Matt Lauer
from the Today show was at his corner table. We had a senator from Arizona in
for dinner with his family. Jerry Della Femina, an original Mad Man and the
inspiration for Don Draper, was in with his wife and daughter. I could go on.
There was just a tremendous amount of power in the dining room. It's like all
these people who I'd gotten to know in my short time at that restaurant came in
to say goodbye. They didn't. Most had no idea I was leaving. Still thought, it was
kinda cool. All these movers and shakers...and Peter.
Peter came by for an
early supper with an old friend of his whose name I forget. He brought in two bottles,
as usual, and while I was serving the first one I let him know that it was my
last day. He asked me where I was headed and I told him. He told me he
appreciated the great service over the last few weeks and I told him I
appreciated all the free hooch.
It was time for dessert.
I was telling him and his friend about a rhubarb tart we were offering as
a special. His friend asked me, "What's rhubarb?" I explained that
rhubarb is a plant with a stalk similar to celery, only it's pink, and it
has a kind sweet and sour flavor to it. He said, "Huh, never heard of it."
I replied, "Well, I grew up with it. My grandmother always had in her
garden. Rhubarb cake was a dessert staple in my house growing up." He
nodded and said, "Alright, I'll try it." I looked over at Peter to
take his dessert order and he was giving me a strange look. He then very
suddenly grabbed me by the forearm and pulled me down so that I was kneeling
next to the table, and we were on the same level. Then he spoke to me very
quietly and in a serious tone. The following is what he said.
"I'm not telling
you that you should lose weight because of how you look. It's not
about that. I'm telling you that you should lose weight, because I don't want
to see you suffer. I'm old, I know what it's like when you get on in years.
Take a look around here. See all these people. You're as good and as smart as
any man in this room, but you're paying for something that's not your fault.
Someone has their foot on you. There's another person inside of you that I can
see, and that person deserves to come out. Like I said, it's not about how you
look. Do you understand?"
What do you say to that?
I wasn't mad. I wasn't mad at all. I could tell that his words were heartfelt.
I also knew that he was right. All I could bring myself to say was, "Alright.
Thank you." He replied, "No, don't thank me. Either do it or don't do
it. Do you understand?" I shook my head yes and stood up. Peter then
proceeded to order an espresso as if the previous conversation never took
place.
I walked away from the
table in a mild state of shock. My bartender Marvin came up to me and said,
"Hey, it's slowing down, man. You should get out of here." I heard
him say the words, but I was kind of frozen, processing what was just said to
me. Then he spoke up, "Mike, you okay?" I nodded yes. "Alright,
then get out of here. I'll finish this up."
I went down stairs and
changed out of my uniform. When I came back up I said goodbye to my co-workers
and started heading toward the front door. Peter was still at his table. He
stopped me, shook my hand and smiled as he said, "Good luck at the new
place. The wife and I will be down to visit sometime."
I walked off the floor
and out into the street. I was still in a fog thinking about what was just said
to me. I came back to my apartment and sat by myself for a bit reflecting on
the night. I thought carefully about Peter's words. They were so specific to my
own life that I found them almost eerie.
I have more to say to
you about them, what they meant to me, and what they could mean for anyone
overdoing it on anything in their life. But, let's wait until the next
post for that. I’m due for some time in the gym today. I plan on making that
workout the only labor I do on this Labor Day weekend.
I hope everyone is
having a great holiday.
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