My failed career as a waitress

The other day in work I was left manning the chocolate counter and it caused me to remember once again what a horrible waitress I'd make. I can manage the chocolates just fine but the coffee machine kind of terrifies me. Yes, I do know that sounds ridiculous but it's also true. I have tried many times to get the knack of making coffees down but it's like I can't put the theory into practice and then there's a queue of people wanting coffees and I'm there trying not to panic whilst getting all sorts of nervously sweaty and wishing I could burrow my way out or perhaps just drop and roll gently back to the safety of the children's section.

I've always had a notion I wouldn't make a great waitress for a number of reasons. Firstly I am ridiculously clumsy and I don't have great hand to eye co-ordination. It has improved somewhat thanks to crossfit but I'm always going to be a bit of a spiller and also I have a terrible memory. I did get to test this theory the summer after I turned nineteen when I worked the wedding circuit at a local hotel and oh god I hated every second of it. 

I used to work from two in the afternoon until two in the morning and my feet would be so sore by the time I walked home that it would take me almost an hour to get to sleep with the throbbing in my feet. I remember the first time I had to bring someone room service and I was carrying this tray up the stairs but I came to a door I couldn't open while holding it so I put the tray down and ended up spilling gravy all over most of it and I was freaking out my manager was not the most understanding  but fortunately the guy who'd ordered the food was nice about it and I was able to sneak back to the kitchen and replace what has spilled. 

I spent afternoons polishing glasses and learning how to make napkin swans ( a skill I've sadly since forgotten) and then we'd get set up for the wedding and I'd be terrified I'd be asked to carry the tray of soup as I couldn't stop picturing it spilling everywhere. We had to wear a uniform of black pants, white shirt and a dickie bow so I always felt ridiculous and yet that didn't seem to stop creepy drunk men from pressing against you as you passed them to clear their table. 

I remember we used to hide out in the kitchen sneaking unwanted profiteroles while no one was looking and the owner, a giant hulking man used to like to check on us throughout the night. He would parade out around in shirts that had tiny dry patches because the rest was soaked with sweat. I'm sure people loved seeing that on their wedding night. He would insist we saved any uneaten roast potatoes when we were clearing the dinner plates and have us pile them up on one plate and when we were busy emptying left over food into bins, he would come stand in the kitchen and grab handfuls of the roast potatoes in his big shovel and hands and eat them as though they were crisps. It still makes me vomit a little in my mouth remembering it now.

Sometimes I would linger behind the bar when the meal was finished because if you were there when the speeches started you weren't allowed to leave until they were done and it was a bit of a break plus it could sometimes be hilarious. People get far too drunk at weddings so the speeches could be interesting to say the least. I remember working one wedding where the bridal party was so drunk that they all did two speeches each. They had genuinely forgotten they had already given their speeches and I was probably the only one in the room sober enough to have noticed.

The whole experience taught me that I am not destined for a career in hospitality and that I probably don't want to get married but hey I could have worked both of those things out on my own. Fortunately that sort of thing is easy enough to avoid unless you count my occasional showdowns with the coffee machine in work.