Axis

august 22nd

THE TRUTH ABOUT WAITRESSING is that usually, it is completely and utterly, soul-wrenchingly draining.

Most of the time, you're tripping over yourself with anxiety about getting more napkins to table A meanwhile making a mental note to bring a drink refill to table B while the pager in your apron keeps passive aggressively buzzing from the kitchen, alerting you that it's time to run food to your especially impatient table C. None of these tables remotely understands or cares that they're not the only ones I can cater to at all moments of the night, and if my smile wavers for even a second, there goes any shot of a decent tip.

But it's good money, so I do my best to persevere through.

Tonight has been particularly taking it all out of me. I nearly spilled a cup of soup on an elderly gentleman who was not amused by the little quip I reflexively made about my saving it in the nick of time. The mom at one of my other tables has been particularly demanding, and stares at me like I'm incompetent every time I speak to her. Another of my tables keeps wanting to talk my ear off, which is making my other tables irritated that I'm not a superhero capable of cloning myself to accommodate their immediate needs. As if it's my fault that I have an especially chatty family that keeps holding me up.

I keep scanning the room to catch sight of Jasper, just to ground myself a little bit and remember that he's suffering just as much as I am, but every time I see him, he looks a lot less stressed than I feel. He's currently leaned up against the wall near the kitchen, chatting with another of the servers and wearing an easy smile.

"Um, excuse me, miss, can we please get our check?" the dad at the table with the bossy mom asks as I walk past, causing me to jerk my attention away from Jasper.

"Sure! Let me just grab some of these plates out of your way," I say, putting on my fake cheerful waitress persona, and accepting their dirty dishes from them like they're the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me. God, the restaurant industry is seeping with fakeness.

I run the dishes, caked in gooey gravy and mashed potato chunks, to a bus tub, and find an open computer to print their receipt from. While I'm typing in my passcode to log into the system, a feeling on my shoulder causes me to jolt with a start.

"Hanging in there, Lex?" Olivia asks, sending me a sympathetic look.

"I'm okay," I muse, wishing this was the truth.

She starts rubbing my shoulder comfortingly. "You got this, girly. Don't let any douchebag customers get in your head. You is kind. You is smart. You is important," she begins ticking off, quoting from The Help like she sometimes does when she can tell I'm stressed.

I shoot her an appreciative smile. "Thank you, Liv."

"Also, come find me later when the dinner rush dies down. I still have to tell you about my date with Quinn." She sends me a suggestive smirk.

Somehow, this does make me feel marginally better. It gives me something to look forward to during the bleak and endless abyss that is customer service.

I run the check to my bossy table, ask my chatty table if they're liking their meals okay, and then circle back to the refuge that is the backroom by the kitchen.

Jasper comes beside me and rests his head on my shoulder. "I'm tired," he murmurs, voice muffled against my shoulder.

I give him an awkward pat. "There, there."

He retracts his head from my shoulder to step back and assess my expression. "You doing okay?"

The only thing for me to do is nod. "I'm good, J."