Hello, My Name Is...Notes on an Italian Restaurant and Life
I've got about a week and a half left of working at Carrabbas. I'm gonna miss all the close friend-forevers I've made while bussing there.
To think that I almost got a job a Life is Good. Happy-go-lucky, flip flops and t-shirts dress code, clothes sorting, just say hi and smile Life is Good! But no, I've worked two months at Carrabbas Italian Grille.
It hasn't been as awful as I first thought it would be. Yes, I have to wear a tie to perform one of the slimiest jobs possible in a tourist beach town. But you know, decent pay, and tips in cash, hand delivered in tiny yellow envelopes, making me feel like a hash dealer.
It's been stressful. At least once a week I have an inner panic attack, I don't let it show except for a solemn expression. For the first three weeks on the job I felt like I was always on the brink of getting fired, by the way people kept shouting hurried demands at me. I think it showed on my face, because after a particularly hard day, where I was so stressed I wanted to cry but didn't, a waitress walks up to me at the end of the night and says:
Waitress Girl: I'm leaving
*pause*
Waitress Girl: Forever. This is my last night. I just wanted to tell you that you're really good.
Me: (a bit awkward and bashful) Haha, thanks.
Waitress Girl: You're REALLY good.
I thanked more genuinely. The look on her face was interesting. She didn't seem to be saying it to just make me feel better. She seemed like this was something important she had to tell me. It made the job a lot more enjoyable. I never got her name, and of course never saw her again, but she's still my favorite waitress.
There are a few more nice people. There's Zeke, King of the Bussers. He's nice, 's got a husky voice with a Mexican accent. Then there's Daniel, another busser who you kind of want to call Farmer Dan, by his rather stoic expression. He's nice though. There's a waitress named Jessica. She's always nice and happy. She always says hi and tries to stay cheerful for the rest of us.
There's also a waiter named Micah. He's even shorter than me. He's nice, but he likes to do I'm-short jokes. You'd think he be sick of other people making those jokes, but he encourages them. What's cool is he's a firm believer, at least as far as I can tell. He's also very VERY talkative and a bit obnoxious about his faith. He seems to like to brag about his virginity and his never-cussing tongue. But it's cool he's outspoken about his beliefs. I'm gonna tell him that before I leave.
There's a few...more challenging waiters. Apparently, some day I wasn't working, Dustin got extremely upset and threw a glass at the wall and got fired. Rex-zilla, I mean Napoleonic Complex, I mean Rob got mad that Dustin was fired "unfairly" and stormed out, also getting fired. DRAMA
So....I'll be done with it soon. Am I a busboy in my heart? No. And I don't like to be called a busboy anyway; it makes me feel like the Jimmy Olsen of the workplace equation. We're called bussers. Soon, I'll be a hotel manager. And hopefully not long after that, a film maker. Or actor. Or writer. Whatever God wills.
I like Jeremy's song.
"Take me where you want me to go, even though I know I might be shaken."
Take me too, God.
To think that I almost got a job a Life is Good. Happy-go-lucky, flip flops and t-shirts dress code, clothes sorting, just say hi and smile Life is Good! But no, I've worked two months at Carrabbas Italian Grille.
It hasn't been as awful as I first thought it would be. Yes, I have to wear a tie to perform one of the slimiest jobs possible in a tourist beach town. But you know, decent pay, and tips in cash, hand delivered in tiny yellow envelopes, making me feel like a hash dealer.
It's been stressful. At least once a week I have an inner panic attack, I don't let it show except for a solemn expression. For the first three weeks on the job I felt like I was always on the brink of getting fired, by the way people kept shouting hurried demands at me. I think it showed on my face, because after a particularly hard day, where I was so stressed I wanted to cry but didn't, a waitress walks up to me at the end of the night and says:
Waitress Girl: I'm leaving
*pause*
Waitress Girl: Forever. This is my last night. I just wanted to tell you that you're really good.
Me: (a bit awkward and bashful) Haha, thanks.
Waitress Girl: You're REALLY good.
I thanked more genuinely. The look on her face was interesting. She didn't seem to be saying it to just make me feel better. She seemed like this was something important she had to tell me. It made the job a lot more enjoyable. I never got her name, and of course never saw her again, but she's still my favorite waitress.
There are a few more nice people. There's Zeke, King of the Bussers. He's nice, 's got a husky voice with a Mexican accent. Then there's Daniel, another busser who you kind of want to call Farmer Dan, by his rather stoic expression. He's nice though. There's a waitress named Jessica. She's always nice and happy. She always says hi and tries to stay cheerful for the rest of us.
There's also a waiter named Micah. He's even shorter than me. He's nice, but he likes to do I'm-short jokes. You'd think he be sick of other people making those jokes, but he encourages them. What's cool is he's a firm believer, at least as far as I can tell. He's also very VERY talkative and a bit obnoxious about his faith. He seems to like to brag about his virginity and his never-cussing tongue. But it's cool he's outspoken about his beliefs. I'm gonna tell him that before I leave.
There's a few...more challenging waiters. Apparently, some day I wasn't working, Dustin got extremely upset and threw a glass at the wall and got fired. Rex-zilla, I mean Napoleonic Complex, I mean Rob got mad that Dustin was fired "unfairly" and stormed out, also getting fired. DRAMA
So....I'll be done with it soon. Am I a busboy in my heart? No. And I don't like to be called a busboy anyway; it makes me feel like the Jimmy Olsen of the workplace equation. We're called bussers. Soon, I'll be a hotel manager. And hopefully not long after that, a film maker. Or actor. Or writer. Whatever God wills.
I like Jeremy's song.
"Take me where you want me to go, even though I know I might be shaken."
Take me too, God.