Breaking Someone’s Hyphen: Nights-Of-Slavery-In-A-Row

I recently completed the 10th of Ten-Nights-In-A-Row working at my restaurant job in Bedford. Anyone who has any experience in restaurant work will know, stretches of work in the service industry are bound to have their ups and downs. Ongoing pressures of-the-moment, along with understood rules for service or side work, are combined with often misunderstood and rigid (but malleable) venue regulations. All of these are handed down by a Manager, Head Waiter or fellow server wearing a badge that notes: Don’t-Shoot-The-Messenger-I-Just-Work-Here-Just-Do-As-We-Say-Even-If-Some-Of-Us-Don’t.

Yeah, the badge is rather sizable.

I’m not saying anything new here as communication in various employments can be confusing. Some of these “messengers” are just that: people who hand down the rules as they know them or understand the explanation, interpreted through the links of chain in command by their coffee filter of a brain. (I fully understand that I am probably describing myself here.)

Others will latch onto rules and instructions with an almost biblical adherence: This-Is-The-Way-It-Should-Be, and they give instructions with a condescending air as if they are, in fact, The Boss. Those are the people for whom — so far — I choose to clear a path and get the Heckle & Jeckle out of the way. Everyone is happier that way. Be that as it may, I survived my Ten-Days-In-A-Row and hope to pay some bills before deadlines approach and late fees are incurred.

Restaurant work can have its unbelievably stressful times. A server needs to greet tables in a timely manner, and food and drink orders are to be taken and delivered shortly thereafter. There is a constant balancing act between attention to a patron’s needs, being available — but also not being overbearing so as to intrude. Important, but only an iota of the detail involved in doing the job correctly. And everyone seems to have their own definition of “correctly.”

A server also has to juggle personality mixes among customers and occasional conflagrations with fellow co-workers. A good server makes sure that the customers are the returning ones — especially the non-demanding, generous, happy customers — no matter how one feels about the conflating co-workers. (A server with a heart tries to put the fire out before the other, combative server goes up in flames.)

I prefer a happy customer. I also like an overly generous one. But they are not mutually exclusive. Some patrons are mad at the world, habitual complainers and yet, surprisingly generous, tipping 18-25 percent (or more) and I’ve yet to figure that out. Other customers have the happiest, cheeriest personalities but pinch their pennies, tipping 13-16 percent (or less) and often after using a series of discounts and comps toward their meals. Intellectually and sometimes emotionally (sniff, sniff), I have not figured that one out either.

Don’t get me wrong, we all need money in its varied forms. It’s just the way this world is set up. But I’ll take a couple of dollars less per table if my night is not spent trying to please those who cannot be pleased. I still raise an occasional eyebrow when a good tip has been left by someone who has not enjoyed their experience. And then there are those wonderful, fun people who have a great time and interaction, promising to be back and to request my service but only leave parking fare. Another raised eyebrow.

A commonly heard phrase among servers in the restaurant business is “behind you.” This is a code. Technically, this is said as a warning not to back up without looking or you may walk into me and/or my tray full of dishes and glassware. Realistically though, many people say “behind you” as an alert to get-the-expletive-out-of-my-way-because-I-am-not-pausing-even-if-you-were-there-first-and-are-also-working-on-something-equally-or-perhaps-more-important.

Working any combination of Nights-In-A-Row strikes some people as burdensome, not wanting be a slave to their jobs. And some of these people have no concept of the word “slavery.” For a hint, try watching “12 Years A Slave,” then complain about having to refill a customer’s water glass. Still, some people can’t imagine having to devote such a block of time to their jobs. However — the idea of slave labor aside — I enjoyed my stretch of Nights-In-A-Row. Somewhat. Being busy beats being non–busy, hands down. However, I am still underemployed. I simply need something else to regularly stay afloat.

So, while I understand that some people might flinch at working Ten-Nights-In-A-Row, it sure beats unemployment and underemployment which was my ongoing status for 4½ years. Before I moved to Manchester in 2011, I had been regularly employed (pretty much) for Ten-Years-In-A-Row from early 2001 through mid–2011. I started as a part time temp with a New York City law firm making $11 an hour, then $13 an hour, and eventually being hired full time with six total years of employment, with yearly increases in salary and health benefits, reducing debts and increasing my savings via a 401K. After completing my assignments with the law firm, I eventually moved on to a position at a public television station, again increasing salary and health benefits, reducing debt(s) and increasing my savings via a 403B (the non-profit version of a 401K). All of these concepts were new to me since no wage increases or health benefits (or regular work) had been happening in my arts background.

When the economic downturn happened in 2009, a series of layoffs occurred within many businesses. I was spared for the most part but then in 2011, it happened and I was laid off from my job … and later laid off from my marriage. All of this led to a bit of an emotional downward spiral and my eventual move to Manchester a few months later. The move was partly to be closer to my folks in Bedford and partly just to start fresh. I had been feeling pretty beat up by my Years-In-A-Row in New York City.

A friend of mine in Litchfield recently lost her 91 year-old mother, Mimi, after a long struggle with Alzheimer’s, a stroke, and varied health issues. Age itself is a health issue for some. It can be tough getting old as I am now witnessing with my folks.

I did not know Mimi well, and even the Mimi I knew did not really know me. But that lack of recognition did not prohibit her from uproarious laughter the few times I was in her company or from making a pass at me from her wheelchair. Silence. More laughter.

Mimi had been in a bit of a prison in recent years. Sort of a slavery of the mind. Mimi’s daughter and the family around her made her last Years-In-A-Row as easy and as structured as they could, with varied sacrifices too numerous to detail. And now Mimi has been set free. Mimi is no longer a slave to her mind or to her wheelchair or to the illness. Mimi has been laid off from her suffering.

On Saturday, May 21 — less than 24 hours from now, in fact — I’ll be running in the Bedford 12K. I signed up early for it, about two months in advance. I figured it would be good for me to have so much prep time to train so I could tackle the distance of 7½ miles without much difficulty. The real difficulty, for me, is that Bedford’s course also has some uphill stretches about halfway thru that can be a struggle to get through if one is not prepared.

Hmm. I am NOT prepared. The months and weeks and days have slipped by and I have just not run regularly enough to dissuade doubt. Oh, I don’t doubt I can do 7½ miles. Those hills, however, will make it tougher for me. Fortunately, I’ll be running with a friend from my church who has more long-distance running experience. Perhaps running behind him will create a drafting effect, much as when cyclists slip behind each other or travel behind moving vehicles. Yeah, I’m sure he’ll appreciate that. I just hope he has not been on a diet consisting of beans and/or bananas.

That would not be a fun draft for 7½ Miles-In-A-Row.