In The Weeds.
I used to be a waitress. I dropped out of college and needed to earn a living so from ages 18-25 I served people food and drinks. My hobby was being in a rock band so the demands on my evenings and wee hours required me to have a job that took my rock & roll moonlighting into consideration. It was said to me on many occasions by various bosses and diners that I was in fact, the worst waitress they had ever seen. The reason I was such a hopeless waitress was due to a variety of factors: my horrible time management skills, failure to consolidate tasks, the afore mentioned attention deficits and inability to prioritize, among other things. If I needed to get a diet coke for table 1 and ketchup for table 2, i would invariably make 2 trips even though the diet cokes and ketchup were in the same place. Extrapolate this stupidity forward to include 8 tables, a lunch rush and and a dozen other customer service requirements and you can see how my disorganization might result in unhappiness for everyone involved. On my end, the chaos that ensued every time I put on an apron and stuck a pen behind my ear has a chilling terminology that every person that has ever been in the restaurant business will know and fear: I was always in the weeds.
I would frequently dream about showing up for my waitressing shift only to find out that all the other waitresses had called in sick just as a busload of elderly sightseers came pouring into the dining room, demanding to be seated all at once. They would want separate checks, ice water with lemon (which I would have forgotten to slice during set-up) and endless substitutions, thus rendering the menu pointless. A couple of 4 tops of businessmen would get seated and they would be in a hurry because they only had an hour for lunch. The owner of the restaurant would decide to pop in with a bunch of sommeliers to show off his amazing wine list and reasonably expect me to open, describe and pour every one of them I would wake up in a flop sweat; just as terrified as if I had dreamt of a knife wielding rapist cornering me at a deserted truckstop. I anticipated every shift with crippling knots in my stomach, knowing with bleak certainty what was coming.
In the last few years of my restaurant career, I was taken in by a group of incredible restauranteurs who quickly identified my absurd lack of ability while taking into account that I possessed some mitigating qualities that made my employment salvageable. Some examples? Excellent penmanship (for addressing invitations), superior phone voice (taking reservations), reasonable knife skills (chopping stuff for the expo line), and good old fashioned Boston Irish Catholic charm (bartending, of course. but only on slow nights). Even after Cleo was earning a living and I was touring the world, I would go back to work for them in between tours and recording, wherever they were. It was in those years, tagging along with Christopher and Esti like an over-eager puppy, that I became passionate about food and wine, which has in turn become the basis for the happiest and most enriching substance of my life. If you are ever in Boston you MUST check them out at Radius, Via Matta or Great Bay.
Back to my initial thought that triggered this ramble. In the weeds. Those words still make my blood run cold. I am so grateful that the universe found a way to spare me and the dining public the misery of Kay Hanley, the worst waitress of all time.
-xok
