A great post on the highs and lows and being addicted to waitressing. By Jackie Kruszewski.
Restaurants are a goldmine for twitter feeds and writing material - a human petri dish of social interactions and intimacies. I have seen dour-faced couples spend their meal on their respective smart phones. I’ve seen the adorable parents trying awkwardly to sweep up their kids’ mess, as well as the nasty ones who, I swear to god, must be encouraging their toddler to throw French fries on our floor.
I have watched blind dates, breakups, morning-after brunches. I’ve had crotchety 70-year-olds tip me 10 percent — only to have their mortified children come up to me after and press bills into my palm. I’ve watched poorly-endowed men impress their dates by ordering the most expensive bottle, only to have no idea what they’re tasting for. (Hint, you’re tasting to make sure the cork wasn’t compromised, not because we expect you to comment that it’s “tannic” or “oaky.”)