I think everyone should wait tables in a nice restaurant at some point. It uses, challenges and/or sharpens so many skills. Your motor skills (and your forearms), your charm, your tolerance, your teamwork, your ability to schmooze the cook or bartender and get your orders out right and on time. How to appease a disgruntled customer who's been waiting too long already. (I was the "cleaner". They sent me in to make challenging situations right and avert diner disatisfaction.) You learn the importance of good procedures and cleanliness. It also gives you empathy for what the job entails and a point of reference and true appreciation for who does it well.I loved waiting tables in my youth. It was a great job for many reasons. You could go to work broke with an empty gas tank, get off work a few hours later with a pocket full of cash and swing by the gas station on the way home to fill up. Tower Records was open until midnight, so you could also go get a new vinyl LP or cassette of your favorite tunes (that's correct, no CDs...definitely no iPods) before they closed. Plus your employer fed you, customers flirted with you, and your boss and coworkers became your friends.
You could also practice your witty banter, which usually resulted in great tips. I treated every table like they came in especially to see my comedy act. In those days, I'd rather work on my birthday than take the day off, I enjoyed it so much. I recently ran into a batch of handwritten "love" notes on napkins that I'd saved from appreciative diners who left them behind at my tables.
In my early 20s, I "graduated" from waiting tables to bartending. My first bartending experience was in a restaurant overlooking a small lake right around the corner (and across the water) from my home. It was a lake that I sailed and windsurfed on. I even swam home from work a few times on full-moon nights after my shift ended at 2am. I'd plan ahead and wear a leotard under my uniform. Bars were smoke-filled places back then, and it felt so good to leave the ashy particulates behind in the cool water of the lake. I quietly worked my way home on warm summer nights, swimming a bit, then floating on my back looking up at the night sky, eventually coming out refreshed on the other side.
I worked mostly night shifts during those "Disco" days (complete with the disco ball light show, a nightly balloon drop and fog machine), but I had a few lunch shifts, too. Normally a night owl, it was a nice change getting to work at 10am to set up the bar. I'd head straight into the walk-in refrigerator to spend time filling up several boxes with the fresh citrus, celery and other garnishes you'd need at the ready when concocting cocktails. A prep cook who'd breezed in and out of there four or five times to my one long visit teased me once, asking what could possibly be taking me so long. My knee jerk response was, "I like to keep my lettuce crisp." He never forgot it. It got such a great reaction from him that it stuck with me too.
There was something about cutting the cold, fresh produce in a clean, quiet bar before the restaurant opened. Everyone else was in the kitchen or setting up the dining room. I was alone in the bar, listening to music and quartering the limes, making lemon twists, slicing the pineapple, cutting celery for bloody marys...when it was all set up it was so pretty and fresh and my hands smelled great. I had to prep for the entire night shift too, so there were trays and trays of beauty just waiting for their turn in the rotation.
After I got married, I switched to working day shifts only. My father-in-law would tap on the window outside and peer in. He was a painting contractor, so he'd get his crew (including my husband) all set and then take time out for a visit. I'd unlock the door, he'd sit at the bar overlooking the lake with a cup of coffee and we'd have some quality time together while I got everything ready. He'd stay until the doors opened for business at 11am. I loved my father-in-law. He held my hand the first time we ever met, walked me down the street to meet a neighbor, and it felt like I'd always known him. I think I stayed with my husband longer than I should have because I was waiting for him to become more like his father.
Prior history with walk-in refrigerators held the promise of romance for me, too. As a 19-year-old waitress, I used to duck into the walk-in with my waiter boyfriend so we could enjoy a private moment. We'd kiss and share bites of the crème brûlée that he'd hidden behind the two-gallon jars of salad dressing, which made the parting kiss even sweeter. Then we'd go back out on the floor to take care of our tables. Remember that, the next time you're dining out and your waitress seems extra happy. We loved our work more than anyone knew.
So, I have really fond memories of being a young restaurant employee, which included the experience of the chilly walk-in's generous bounty and endless opportunities for its alternative use. I'm drawn to cool, breezy spots like that.
It's still important to me to "keep my lettuce crisp", but after all these years, it's often subliminal. The air conditioner in the car is always on low, even if the windows are open. At home, I keep the doors open 24/7, even in the dead of winter (commonly known as the "flow-through teabag" effect). Even when the fog rolls in the front door and out the back, I may adjust how far open they are, but the doors are never fully closed. I think that explains my extensive hoodie collection and luxuriously soft, warm bedding. When friens come over, they wear layers. Even though I'm happy to turn on the heat, they know about and indulge my desire for crisp lettuce and join me, crisping their own in the process.
For me, it's not just about avoiding wilted lettuce. In the end, I think it's about a desire to stay fresh as long as possible. I guess I'm hoping that life in the crisper just might extend my expiration date...
P.S. Keeping with the chilly theme, I remembered that I actually submitted an idea concerning a practical use for "chilled brains" to HalfBakery.com (a fun site to test hair-brained, I'm sorry, half-baked ideas) in 2000. I just checked, and surprisingly you can still see it at the site here. Someone actually supported the notion scientifically, and another comment popped up just this month! Crazee!
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