As of tomorrow, I have concluded my time serving the people of Albuquerque pizza and beer. I listed my last day as the 20th, but I have decided to take my last half-week in New Mexico to hang out with my friends and not hate my life.
I want to frolick in Santa Fe, and go to the pool, and day drink, and read in a park, and not think about refilling someone’s drink even once. And so, I have composed a letter. More specifically, an open letter regarding the end of a lactose intolerant person’s cheese centered existence or in other words a comprehensive meditation on my time serving pizza.
(Considering my choice of studies, I am under no illusion that I will not, not be a waitress for presumably the rest of my life. I really don’t mind it that much, it’s quite fun at times in fact. But I still have thoughts.)
Dear Pizza Eating Populace, addressed to those who serve and have been served food or beverages ever in your life.
First off, I have a name. My name is not your drink order.
Secondly, I do judge you a bit when I ask how you are and you respond with “good”. It’s well. You are doing well.
Thirdly, who began the insane trend of putting ranch on pizza? I would very much like to know who is responsible for this because then I can blame them for the smell of rancid ranch dressing permeating ALL MY CLOTHES.
Despite the few gripes that naturally arise within any profession, I have learned many valuable life lessons from serving pizza.Somehow.
For instance, I know that someone sporting psych unit gear from Alcatraz will most likely not tip you. Neither will most members of the Native American population (I am allowed to say this, see last name). Neither will certain huge families that come in with their coupon all prepared, don’t add any toppings to their coupon pizza, and whose drinks you refill sixty five times. Neither will children. Neither will old people. Neither will Europeans.
Without this job I would have never known that ACTUAL REAL LIVE (well, now dead) anchovies are used to make caesar dressing.
As of now I could not only tell you the entirety of Slice Parlor’s menu, but equally as well list the Co-op’s deli options.
I know how to judge if someone is a “straw person” based off my initial interaction.
I adamantly maintain there are two types of people in the world:
- Those that absolutely need straws
- Those that can just drink their beverages without one.
Oh, I’m sorry. Are the dishes that I hand wash for you not up to your standards of cleanliness? Here is a piece of plastic wrapped in paper that you will use for an hour, all the better for slurping your drink down faster, only to be thrown away and added to the already overflowing landfills outside Albuquerque.
I have never been better at just straight up lying to people’s faces. I am the sole mediator between you as a customer and the things that you want me to give you. What I say is the law, if we are “out” of something, etc then for all you know..that is the truth. Sometimes I just outright lied for kicks, or on accident
“Yes, that is Diet Coke. Here is your sixth refill sir”
I no longer feel weird about going to bars by myself, because I realize how not weird it is. The staff genuinely give no shits about it and no one is judging you. So just chill.
People don’t realize they want water, until someone else orders it. In fact, people don’t seem to realize that they want anything until someone else orders it. A water order has a domino effect, one person asks and everyone follows suit. I don’t mind hydrating you, we live in a desert, but for god sakes be an individual!
Babies are cute, the cutest. But not when they are eating, or screaming, or screaming and throwing their food on the floor at the same time. Did I say the cutest? Babies are the worst.
People don’t always know where they want to sit, but when they do..it’s the one table in the entire restaurant that isn’t clean. WHAT IS IT WITH THAT? Always.
People also naturally gravitate toward booths. We have one, and it’s always a fight to the death for people to sit there. I personally don’t see what the big deal it, turns out a booth is essentially a bunch of chairs fused together into one giant chair.
The voyeuristic nature of humans is apparent when serving people. They like for you to stand there an watch them decide on something to eat. This might take ten minutes as other people sit down, but the moment I walk away I already know will be the moment they have made a decision.
Food decisions are super stressful to the majority of the population. Like. Which pizza you are going to eat for this meal MIGHT be the most important choice of your short life so choose wisely and take an incredibly long time to do so.
People are delusional about their food choices. I am not surprised at all as to why obesity is such a prominent issue in America. There seems to be some kind of misunderstanding that a diet coke negates all other calories consumed. A diet drink will not cause the enormous calzone you ordered to disappear from your stomach–even with multiple refills. Also, just screw refills.
And no, for the record boys writing on a waitress’s receipt is not an effective means of hitting on her because I know I personally don’t look at my receipts until the end of the evening at which point I doubt I will remember who sat at table 45 at 7:43pm. Aside from that, it is kind of a cowardly way of communication. Just ask me. Done and done.