you may say i'm a dreamer

Everyone should work in food services at least once in their lives. I heard this from every adult ever when I was growing up, and now after four years at The Baker’s Brew, I have found that I have become one of those adults. Recently, Schmidt (our bar manager) pulled me aside and asked me if I had learned more at college or from working in a restaurant. He cut me off before I could respond, saying that the answer was too obvious. That question has stuck with me ever since, and I think he was right. After all, I had been working there for a whole year longer than I had been at college. And sure, I learned a lot as an English major at a liberal arts school. I read books about other people experiencing the world, but there’s something about dealing with the world yourself that really sells the restaurant more. Think about it. You’re handling all sorts of hungry, entitled people while dealing with a staff who’s tired, hungry, most likely hungover, and extremely cranky most days, on top of trying to carry the correct food order on hot plates to the right person at the right table that needs a new pitcher of water with four lemons and the woman at table 18 asked for an extra ketchup and the phone is ringing and table 22 just got up so that needs to be cleared and wiped and set but there’s no silverware polished and you have beer waiting for you at the bar to be dropped off to table 19 and shit you forgot the ketchup for table 24 wait no 18 and the phone is still ringing why has no one gotten the goddamn phone. This goes on for five to six hours most evenings, nine to ten hours if you’re a double, and this is all going on when you’re a high school student and eventually a college student who’s juggling classes and homework and stress and stupid drama and you just want to go to bed. So yes, I can say with confidence that I’ve probably learned more from working in a restaurant. The social skills I learned from customer service alone have definitely helped me get through college.

I got the job at The Baker’s Brew the summer before my senior year. My mom had been pushing me to get a job so that I would be able to save up money before college. She also probably just didn’t want me lazing about all summer long. I sent out applications to a few places, clothing stores and restaurants alike. When nothing came back, and tensions ran high with my mother, her friend Aaron Baker intervened with a job offer as a hostess and busser at his restaurant. With an extensive drink list and food menu, The Baker’s Brew was a popular spot in the town of West Valley, one that I was familiar with from growing up nearby and knowing Aaron. I had always liked Aaron. He was like a court jester with his constant jokes and antics, but the smile could fade from his face in seconds with his short temper. However, as a boss, he took his work seriously and taught me so much about the restaurant world and about life itself. But this isn’t about him.

It’s about you.

I’m trying to remember my first shift. I know it was a Friday night, so you were definitely there because you closed every Friday night. I remember that I was bussing, which meant that I worked directly by your side. Bussers are essentially the backbone of every restaurant because without us, the servers would be all on their own to do everything. However, after four years, all the memories of us doing our waltz from table to table, passing rags and plates and glasses and silverware, sharing smiles and jokes, after all of that, they’ve all blended together. Four years of the same dance and the same antics and my memory can’t keep them straight. You were definitely helpful, like you always were and that’s all that matters about the first day. Right from day one you and I clicked. That silly little seventeen year old with the beginnings of what would blossom into an enormous crush never would’ve been able to guess just how far that waltz would bring us.