Ask most five-year-olds what they want to be when they grow up and they’ll likely say something along the lines of a race-car driver, astronaut or world-famous supermodel. Usually after elementary school they put those ambitions on the back-burner in favour of more realistic vocations.
While I did want to join Madonna on tour and practiced all of her dance moves regularly, there was another job that I desperately wanted. And unlike the odds of making it as a singing sensation, most people would say my other goal was easily attainable.
But easy for some is a marathon for others. And at the age of 31, I still have yet to fulfill my dream of becoming a waitress.
In high school, most of my girlfriends worked at the local Kelsey’s which my boyfriend’s family owned. I was desperate to work alongside them but my boyfriend’s dad didn’t want us working together in case we had one of our teenage spats in front of the customers. I guess flying plates were bad for business.
Instead, I was forced to stand by as my friends sported flattering uniforms, showed off fresh wads of cash every night and hung out with cool older servers. Not to mention the nights they’d spend hanging out at the bar after their shift, whooping it up until the wee hours of the morning.
Meanwhile, I toiled away across the mall parking lot at Zellers wearing a bright blue smock decorated with various Club Z pins.
When the East Side Mario’s chain announced they were opening up right across the street from Kelsey’s, I just knew I had to apply – even if it meant working for the ‘competition.’ There weren’t many other options in my hometown, especially if you had no prior experience. So on the day they held group interviews, I lined up for hours with hundreds of other young people hoping to land a job in the food services industry. When I finally made it to the front of the line, the interviewer asked if I could sing. “If you want me to break the windows,” I replied, quite seriously. Wrong answer! Why hadn’t I remembered that being a server means you have to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ with all the enthusiasm of a camp counsellor?! Needless to say I was never called back for a second interview.
While working at the Toronto Sun in my twenties, my co-workers and I would regularly find ourselves at Betty’s, the pub across the street. I always looked on at the wait staff with envy, wondering how they’d gotten their start. I would fantasize that I could get a serving job in my spare time – but it never went any further than that.
Oh sure, there have been times when after a couple of cocktails I’ve gotten up the nerve at a restaurant to ask if they are hiring. But the liquid courage is gone by the time I wake up the next day.
My 19-year-old brother enrolled in the hotel and resort management course at Georgian College in Barrie this past fall. I’m hoping that some day when he’s running a fancy hotel he’ll get me a job serving tables.
While I did want to join Madonna on tour and practiced all of her dance moves regularly, there was another job that I desperately wanted. And unlike the odds of making it as a singing sensation, most people would say my other goal was easily attainable.
But easy for some is a marathon for others. And at the age of 31, I still have yet to fulfill my dream of becoming a waitress.
In high school, most of my girlfriends worked at the local Kelsey’s which my boyfriend’s family owned. I was desperate to work alongside them but my boyfriend’s dad didn’t want us working together in case we had one of our teenage spats in front of the customers. I guess flying plates were bad for business.
Instead, I was forced to stand by as my friends sported flattering uniforms, showed off fresh wads of cash every night and hung out with cool older servers. Not to mention the nights they’d spend hanging out at the bar after their shift, whooping it up until the wee hours of the morning.
Meanwhile, I toiled away across the mall parking lot at Zellers wearing a bright blue smock decorated with various Club Z pins.
When the East Side Mario’s chain announced they were opening up right across the street from Kelsey’s, I just knew I had to apply – even if it meant working for the ‘competition.’ There weren’t many other options in my hometown, especially if you had no prior experience. So on the day they held group interviews, I lined up for hours with hundreds of other young people hoping to land a job in the food services industry. When I finally made it to the front of the line, the interviewer asked if I could sing. “If you want me to break the windows,” I replied, quite seriously. Wrong answer! Why hadn’t I remembered that being a server means you have to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ with all the enthusiasm of a camp counsellor?! Needless to say I was never called back for a second interview.
While working at the Toronto Sun in my twenties, my co-workers and I would regularly find ourselves at Betty’s, the pub across the street. I always looked on at the wait staff with envy, wondering how they’d gotten their start. I would fantasize that I could get a serving job in my spare time – but it never went any further than that.
Oh sure, there have been times when after a couple of cocktails I’ve gotten up the nerve at a restaurant to ask if they are hiring. But the liquid courage is gone by the time I wake up the next day.
My 19-year-old brother enrolled in the hotel and resort management course at Georgian College in Barrie this past fall. I’m hoping that some day when he’s running a fancy hotel he’ll get me a job serving tables.
Until then my friends will continue to indulge me as I serve them my famous grilled cheese sandwiches with all the fanfare one would expect from an experienced waitress.
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