Posted March 11th, 2003 by Michelle

It’s sort of amazing how much my life slips by during my work week. This was a particularly silly week- basically a “quad”- two shifts on Sunday followed by two shifts on Monday- then sleeping ’till noon today and having enough time to do a load of laundry before heading out to work yet again. But one or two lovely things have happened over the last few days. I was in the middle of the Sunday morning lunch rush when a woman ran in the door, calling my name. She grabbed my arm as if she knew me like a sister and started yabbering about how I had served her. I just nodded and smiled and scanned my brain until I found a match: she was the secretary of a cop at the 13th precinct. Her boss and his wife had brought her to dinner two weeks ago to celebrate her retirement. I remember that she was quiet and sweet, and that the cop almost had to force her to order more than just an entree. If memory serves, I sent them a free dessert with “congratulations” or something written in chocolate. Anyway, I’m remembering the whole dinner as this woman clings to my arm, rattling off a story about how she got too drunk to remember what I looked like, and that she had called the restaurant and stopped by trying to find me, and that she had a present for me. She shoved a small package in my hand, and suddenly embarassed, sped out the door before I could entirely catch up to the situation.

I stopped for a minute in the middle of the rush, in throngs of people trying to get in and out of the restaurant, and gazed at this little package in my hand. And only then did I realize that it was made out of the postcards that we put in our check presenters. She had taken several of them and cut and pasted them into a cylinder. She filled the cylinder with Easter chocolates and then wrapped it in plastic, like a giant Tootsie Roll. And then- this was the kicker- the ends were wrapped in ribbon that matched the colors of the postcards- black, green, red, and yellow. The effort put into this small gift was staggering.

And then I noticed the small card (also cut from our postcards) that hung from one end. In it was a sticker that read simply, “One person can make a difference”. Say what you will. These moments justify my life.

The next night, some of my new regulars (who I’d only met once) came in for dinner. I was only doing the wine that night, so I couldn’t wait on them, but I spent a great deal of time at their table, making recommendations and chatting. At the end of their meal, the husband put his arms around me and told me that I was a star, that I was wonderful, that I was the kind of person who would do brilliantly whatever I chose to do. And then the woman searched me out and put $40 in my hand, on top of what they left their server.

It’s strange. I guess when you are not dating somebody, and you don’t have anyone around to tell you that you are doing okay, the universe sends you drunk 50-year-olds to remind you that you are loved, that you might even be extraordinary. If the universe forgets, then you have to tell yourself that you are okay, that you are doing the right thing, that you are cool or attractive or worthwhile. But when you forget to tell yourself, well. That’s when you are in a world of hurt.

I also got the good news today that I’ve been promoted- I’m now also a bartender as well as server at the most popular restaurant in New York. As I’ve said a million times, if all I wanted in life was to be a waittress, I’d be the most successful person I know. As it is…