Our waitress couldn’t have been more than nine-teen-years-old.
Kim and I were at the least objectionable of the three licensed restaurants at a suburban mall, chosen because it had lots of parking and was equal driving distance for both of us.
The server’s hair was perfect, her thick makeup expertly applied. She was bubbly and enthusiastic—too bubbly and enthusiastic. Her forced cheer made it clear she had us pegged.
Oh God, a couple of moms on the town—poor things. This must be a big night out for them. Better not let them sense my pity or they’ll start acting bitchy.
And I looked across the table at Kim, who I first met almost a dozen years ago when she was a twenty-one-year cocktail waitress and I was bartending at the infamous nightspot in our home town. And something unspoken passed between us.
Kim knew what I wanted to say.
I wanted to say that my best friend and I hadn’t always hemmed and hawed before deciding it would be okay to split a half litre of wine. That we hadn’t always stopped to consider whether a fried appetizer would wreak havoc on our stomachs.
I wanted to say that ten years ago we would have been cracking wise about music and clothes and flirting with the hotties at the bar, not hauling our kids’ pictures out of our wallets and telling story after story about the funny things they said.
I wanted to say that ten years ago we wouldn’t have planned this night weeks in advance and we wouldn’t have been caught dead in this cheesy bar, in this cheesy mall, no matter how convenient and plentiful its parking.
I wanted to say that ten years ago I would never have glanced at my watch and winced to see that it was already 9:45 p.m.
But I didn’t say anything. Neither did Kim.
We just smiled at each other. Happy, secure, amused.
Because our waitress couldn’t have been more than nine-teen-years old.
And she couldn’t possibly know that the middle-aged moms splitting an appetizer and a half litre of wine would have given her pert, little ass a run for its money in their day.
Photo Courtesy of Don Mills Diva
Save Your Sympathy Sweetie
By: Don Mills Diva (View Profile)
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Comments
Loved the article! I go out w/ my girlfriends once a month, only half of whom have kids, and I laugh b/c it is such a different world we live, not harder, or better, just VERY different... thanks for reading my mind and putting it on paper!
My girlfriend and I were nothing but respectful, polite and friendly to the waitress. She was actually very sweet, but it was clear she viewed us as slightly foreign. I also worked my way through college as a waitress and while doing so clucked sympathetically at many a middle-aged woman who wasn't nearly as cool as me. The article was only meant to humourously point out that my girlfriend and I realized that one day she would be where we were and yet she wouldn't feel any different than she did at 19. That's all. Sorry you didn't dig it.
What is it about a young waitress that set you off? Sounds like she was just being nice. Your assumptions about what she was thinking (your comments in italics) are extremely harsh and judgmental. I worked as a waitress to put myself through college. Being cheery and bubbly was my job - the American service industry requires it. And then your last sentence – OUCH! Why do women do treat one another this way. Busy moms like you I’m sure have better things to think about than picking on some young waitress.
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