"That Chocolate Cake's Got Some Shellfish in it, Sir"

One of the things that I value most about my job at the restaurant is how incredibly human it is.

 

On one end, I get to come in to work every day, essentially jack around with my friends and get paid for it, and then do my side work and go home with far more money than it feels like I should have for the actual labor I put into it. Sure, it’s hard work. There are days when I truly feel like I’m ran through by the time I walk out of there at midnight. But the thing is, and Ella and I talked about this the other day, going to work is something I can count on to lift me up when I am having a bad day, it’s a place where I know I will laugh, and it’s a place where I know people genuinely care about me. The work doesn’t feel as hard because I don’t mind doing it. It’s fun. It's rewarding. And I think that’s what a good job is supposed to feel like. I feel so lucky that I work in a restaurant like that because, trust me, I know that is definitely a marginal experience in the restaurant industry.

 

On the other hand, my job for the entire day is to interact with strangers as they come in with their family, friends, or whoever to sit down and share a meal together. Eating together is one of the most sacred things I think we do as people. Food is a language all of its own. Preparing the food. Serving the food. Eating the food. It’s such a personal thing. Maybe not exactly in a restaurant setting, but think about when you cook for someone you love. Maizey cooks for me all the time. My mom cooks for me all the time when I am home. She brought me fresh vegetables from her garden all the way to Virginia. My great grandma used to keep cinnamon pinwheels at her apartment along with butterscotch and wintergreen mints in her purse so that my brother and I had a snack when we were with her. She wasn’t able to cook, but she still made sure that we had something to eat. All of these things are an expression of love. They’re an offering, one that is sacred as an act of service and one that is a blessing to accept.

 

Since I serve at the restaurant, there is also that aspect of being human together too. I introduce myself, I small talk with the tables, and often times the small talk turns into big talk. When that happens it happens naturally, and it also usually ends up being very meaningful to me. I’ve found that as I have become more comfortable with myself it’s become easier to connect with others.

 

I waited on a table of three people earlier this month during a rush. I gave them fine service. I was stretched thin just because of how busy we were, and I was worried that they may have been frustrated with the amount of time they had to wait between finishing their meal and getting their check. They weren’t. They were so kind and actually when I went over to cash them out, they decided to order dessert. As they were deciding on the dessert they remarked on how busy we were, and I mentioned that as school gets closer and students start to move back in the restaurant normally picks up. They asked if I was in school and what I wanted to do with my degree. They were from Pennsylvania, from a town that sits right where George Washington crossed the Delaware. Long story short, the man I was speaking to ends up having published a book about coaching and leading with emotional intelligence. He is a college baseball coach (hall of famer actually, I looked him up), but just so happened to write his book about women’s basketball. He was also a huge Bobby Knight fan. He and his wife were so kind and encouraging about my path to becoming a coach and a teacher. He came in the next evening to bring me a copy of his book. That was one instance of connecting really well with a table, the small talk turning into big talk, and then a complete stranger going out of their way to bless me with such a thoughtful act of kindness.

 

There are also people who are incredibly mean. I had a lady ask me to my face about a month ago, “Are you stupid?” No ma’am, I’m not stupid. <3 Her and her husband did make me cry though because they were insistent on the fact that something had to be wrong with me after I had genuinely tried so hard to make her life easier at a time when I was also very so overwhelmed. But those interactions are so few and far between. Today I had a very… I don’t even know what word is enough to describe the interaction I had today.

 

I waited on an older couple, Mirriam and Bob. She had very cute glasses and white hair. She was soft spoken and incredibly sweet. Bob looked like he was probably a looker back in his day. Much taller than her, he was wearing a grey shirt and had a very kind smile. Bob ordered an Argyle, something, he informed me, he could still have even though he developed a shellfish allergy in his mid 50’s. “Can still have the important stuff I see.” Mirriam ordered a coffee. She also got a bowl of she-crab soup and a lobster roll.

 

They both were talking to me about seafood. I told them it was something I really enjoyed too, and Mirriam told me that she used to live along the coast when she was growing up. During “every month that ended with an ‘r’” her father would bring them home something fresh to try. She was also born in Indiana, and I could tell just by the way that Bob listened and watched her talk – smiling at her when she would say something unknowingly cute – that he loved her so much.

 

After I dropped off her soup, every time I went to the table, she made sure to tell me how absolutely wonderful it was. She was soft spoken, like I said, so I would lean down to hear what she was saying; "I'm by the ocean," was all I heard the first time. She told me again, when she was about halfway finished with it, “This is making me feel like I’m back by the ocean. I’m going to pack my bags and go to the beach.” Watching her and hearing her enjoy her food about moved me to tears. Not like cry tears, more like weepy tears.

She told me I needed to go to the beach and I told her a little bit about going to Virginia Beach with my friends earlier this month. "Going to the beach with friends is so special," is what she told me. And she's very right. She's very very right because one of my favorite memories of this summer is sitting at the top of the Virginia Beach ferris wheel with Macy, Ella, and Hallie.

 

Mirriam and Bob were both probably in their 80’s. I know this because he told me he developed his shellfish allergy in his mid 50’s and he’s "had about 25 years to get used to it." They shared a slice of chocolate cake and another coffee before they left. I don’t really know how possible it is for them to go to the beach anymore. When I saw them walk out, I noticed that they were holding hands. Not really out of necessity, more out of love, but I could tell that she was leaning on Bob as he was helping her along the sidewalk.

 

The taste of the food took her back to those memories. I am crying writing about it right now actually because, truly, the sincerity in her voice when she told me, “I’m going to pack my bags and go to the beach,” about cracked me in half. They were so lovely. And I love that I feel like I know a lot about their hearts just from the short time I got to spend with them today. They told me that they would come back and see me. “Next time,” they said after asking for my name again, “we will specifically ask for you.”

 

I hope they go to the beach. I hope I’m wrong and I hope that they drive east tomorrow and then come back to Burton’s to tell me all about it.