Posted August 17th, 2003 by Michelle

My return to work was not nearly as difficult as I thought it might be. At one point in the night, I went to the Micros station and held out my hand, palm up, to my fellow servers. “What’s that?” asked one. “What my customers are eating out of,” I replied. When the people at the tables wax rhapsodic about my restaurant, and exclaim our greatness, I always butt in and say, “Right? Aren’t we great?” And when they tell me how good I am, I say, “Right? I know! Aren’t I great?” And then they laugh, and I laugh, and then I usually make some stock restaurant joke, and then I realize I’ve been thinking about something else entirely during the whole conversation. I am capable of saying things with such conviction and enthusiasm when all I’m really doing is daydreaming. I don’t really think about other stuff when I’m at work. Mostly I’m singing a song in my head or just letting my mind wander while explaining in detail exactly how the tuna is marinated. It is the rare guest who takes me out of myself for a real conversation. I have stock answers to the usual questions: Where are you from? How long have you worked here? You’re an actress, right? (My favorite white lie response: no, I’m an EMT.) But I would say only once a month does one of the several hundred people I meet actually affect me. Last night I was filling water in my partner’s station, and these two incredibly high-maintenace older folks exclaimed, “HELLO! Hello, hi, how are you?” Turns out I waited on them last month. They said I was the best “waiter” they’d ever had. Not for one million dollars could I have recalled one moment of their previous dining experience. I guess there is something to be said about being an expert on something that doesn’t thrill you.