Bisque in Anger

Bisque in Anger
Or
How I Learned To Stop Waiting and Love The Desk

Recently, a buddy of mine asked me why I quit my lucrative waiter/bartender position in favor of a desk job that paid less than half the money. What started out as a simple response to his question blossomed into a surprisingly lengthy rant on the beef I have against the service industry and the creatures that inhabit it, on both sides of the bar. I’ve been wanting to write a series of pieces on being a waiter for some time now. While I was in the biz, I was always coming up with pithy little observations and collecting amusing anecdotes; partially to pass the time, and partially to vent some of the frustration that I had to deal with working the job. Now that I’ve hung up my cocktail apron for good (or at least, for now), I think I might have the scientific objectivity to tackle the project. This will be the first of several entries on the wild and wooly world of waiting tables and tending bar.

I started waiting tables my junior year of college, and started bartending about a year later. There are many advantages to working a service job in college: the jobs are relatively easy to get, even if you’ve never waited before; evening work hours make it easy to accommodate your class schedule; you earn a big chunk of money for a few hours’ work; you’re working with a lot of people your own age; there are no take-home responsibilities; and it’s even got some ‘cool’ cache to it. Even after college, for a guy or gal in their early twenties, who’s not sure about a career path, a service job can seem like a good idea.

Then why did I quit my bartending job? Two reasons. One, I've never liked the blatant disrespect that customers and co-workers are allowed to treat you with, and I kept getting into fights with people. I usually got away with it because I'm basically likable and a good employee, but if I'd stayed in the industry, it would only be a matter time before I got fired/walked out/spilled hot bisque on someone's lap in anger.

Two. More prosaically, working evenings meant that I didn't get to spend as much time with my girlfriend, who works a 9-to-5, and it was beginning to take a toll on our relationship. To all you young couples out there: you and your partner can get away with working different hours for a while, but if you want to stay together, you eventually need to sync up your shifts. It’s hard to keep the love alive with someone you never see.

Three (now that I've got a full head of steam I realize that my reasons were legion). I’d officially graduated from my early twenties to my mid-twenties. I might not have known yet what I wanted to be when I grew up, but I knew that a service job wasn’t getting me there. I wanted to get a job that could conceivably lead to a better job, somewhere down the line. Now, granted, this cuts both ways: sometimes you get a lame desk job that you realize can only lead to FURTHER lame desk jobs, most of which will probably pay LESS than a halfway-decent waiting gig. But it was a risk I was willing to take.

Four. Being a waiter or bartender when you COULD be doing "so much more with your talents" is a way of making a statement to the world. It's a declaration that you don't care how other people judge you, and you're going to do things your own way for your own reasons. Besides, it gives you ample free time to pursue artistic activities, or other personal passions that those poor saps chained to a desk all day don't have the time or the energy for.

Unfortunately, I didn’t meet many waiters with this mentality that actually DID much that was creative and meaningful with their time. The vast majority just got drunk and partied every night, and then become career waiters because they don't know anything else and have destroyed all their credibility and their drive. That's just never been my scene. Also, all that money you make? Hard to save, baby, when the after-hours bar beckons. I knew plenty of waiters who made forty, fifty grand a year (or more!) but struggled to pay the rent every month.

One exception to this rule is a bartendress of my acquaintance who has a business as a professional photographer working the wedding/baby/graduation circuit. Creative? Not the most. But it's her own business, it's fulfilling, and she's working to make it into a full time gig, and she's making progress. Then she can kiss the service industry goodbye. Cheers to her.

Five. That ‘career waiter’ track that everyone who’s in the industry long enough gets on? Scary stuff. Working in fine dining, I’ve known plenty of them. Many of them are good human beings, but something about being a waiter past a certain threshold works strange changes on your soul. Worse, most of them eventually become Restaurant Managers, and end up working more hours for less money and more accountability. I’ve seen it happen, and trust me, it ain’t pretty.

I could go on longer, but I'm sure you've heard as much as you need to. I actually dig my lame desk job right now. The pay is low, but then again so is supervision and accountability, I can listen to music and old Loveline reruns on my iPod all day, and it’s something I won’t be embarrassed about putting on a resume. I don't know if it will provide me with the magical key that releases me you the vicious lame-job cycle, but right now, I’m content to…wait.