Friday, February 15, 2013
The uniform was the worst part about her job as a food server. She loved dishing out spaghetti to the students and wiping down the tables at the end of her shift. It was the matching brown polyester pants, shirt and cap that really got her down. What she wouldn't have given for a pair of jeans and hoodie for spooning out the refried beans on taco day or mashed potatoes for the holiday feast meal. Unfortunately, the uniform was part of the job and so long as she wanted to work there, she'd be sporting the threads, dreaming of trading places with the countless girls wearing the Gap or Aeropostale on the other side of the counter.
She answered phones and redirected calls all day long. It was her half hour lunch break that made the day more tolerable. That's when she would walk the parking lot ten times and eat her salad at the picnic table outside. She read about fifteen pages in her romance novel and then it was back to her desk, attached to the phone and receiving occasional Fed Ex packages.
He worked for years as a bartender. It wasn't fun but it provided lots of laughs for his family members when he came home and told them stories about his customers. It wasn't that the people he served were bad, but being a bartender allows for a certain voyeurism that other jobs just don't have. Fixing cocktails for strangers enables a person to make certain unqualified judgments that may or may not be true. But in this line of business, figuring out people quick was part of the job and it was something he was quite good at doing.