When I was a Waitress...

I know what you’re thinking. I’m not waitress material, right? Wrong. Actually, yes you were right. Terrible terrible. I’ve got a lot of strengths: I’m creative. I’m passionate. I’m motivated. I also have some weaknesses. I am not good at paying attention to small details. I am terrible at doing more than one thing at a time. I am not good at small talk and bullshitting. So add them up (not detail-oriented, can’t multitask, can’t hold conversations) and you’ve got yourself a fool-proof server.

The Orders
God, I was terrible at this. I tried so many different ways of writing in a note pad to try to help me who orderd appetizers, who ordered substitutes, what went where, what should come first, what sauce they wanted, etc. Oh, you want an appetizer? Yeah you're definitely not getting that. Oh, your son is allergic to cheese? Welp, better hope he doesn't eat too much of that "cheeseless" pizza because I'm not assertive enough to demand that the scary non-English speaking cooks roll out the dough on a clean surface. Oh you want me to put that baked dish back in the oven for 2 minutes? By 2 minutes I hope you meant 25 because thats how long it will take me to remember that I put it in there.

The Kids
Here's my advice. If you are ever going to subject yourself to serving, do not do it in a restaurant that caters to kids. The first time a kid asked me to play with dough, I looked at the mother for help in shutting this obnoxious idiot up. But another waitress came by and dropped off the "kid dough" that children can make their own pizza dough that we get to put in the oven like a real pizza, because thats the kind of time I have on my hands. I always just assumed kids liked black burnt play pizzas, because thats what they looked like each and every time I finally remembered to get them out of the oven. Ohhh, that is so cute, you're gonna let you're 4 year old daughter order her own meal off the kids' menu. "Honey, tell the lady you want a pizza ... do you want pepperoni? "ya" "you do?" "no" "oh you don't want peperoni honey?" "ya ... peanut butter m jelly" "... We don't have peanut butter and jelly." "Honey choose something off the men-SIR SHE IS TWO SHE CAN'T READ AND SHES GETTING A CHEESE PIZZA WITH MILK. THE END.

The Tray
Ahem. Next time you see a waitress whipping around the restaurant with a tray full of drinks raised high above her head, give her a high five. That shit is impressive. Next time you see a waitress leaving a table with their finished plates, turn back to the customers to answer a question and literally wind-mill pitch all of their uneaten food and plates at their faces, laps and table, put your arm around her and tell her she’s still doing great...

The Uniform
What, not feeling good about the fact that you’re working on a Friday night? Or that you're working alongside some of the biggest losers you’ve ever met? Then slip into these black clogs, short black pants and a man’s size, short-sleeved button down shirt, and you’ll start to feel better. And tuck it in!

The Servers
mostly disasters.


The Customers
Some people hated me, and rightfully so. When you make them wait an hour for pizza, and literally forget every small thing they ask you for, hatred is the result. One woman, my first week on the job, actually chose to get up from the table and leave her husband at the restaurant because she could no longer deal with me. Good thing I had good self-esteem.

But I had some customers who loved me, too, and they would ask to talk to my manager to tell them I did a great job. Once, these two old crazies wanted to talk to me about everything, from their childhood to their vacations in Italy. And I busted my butt to make them, and everyone else, happy. They wanted to talk to my manager about how much they loved me. “Send over your boss, Heidi.” Heidi!! I thought, aw HELL no, I need to make sure they get my name right. My manager gave them a phone number they could call to praise me, so they took down my name. “okay Heidi...oh Lannah? Larney? Okay, you were just a sweethaht, Lauren, good luck honey.” Turns out, they did give me a great review. I just really hope Lauren appreciated it.

The Food
I started my employment at Bertucci’s on one of my more serious, atkins-like diets and held out for a long time surviving on salads with grilled chicken or shrimp with lite Italian and lots of diet cokes. By the end of my time there I was eating any leftover pizza laying around and 3 rolls per shift. My pants were tight.

I cried before 75% of my shifts. So, this is really not a job I recommend for nervous 20 year olds. But, just in case, here is my advice: if you can't remember which drink was coke and which was root beer, do not sniff them when no one is looking. They are looking, and they will tell your boss that you are "drinking the sodas". ...Just guess.

The Picture of Health

So now that I’m a public health professional, I’m supposed to set an example for others. For my own sake, I am making a list of ways I already exemplify the picture of health vs. the ways in which I could probably improve.

So, here we go, a list of what I already do perfectly:

I work out.

I eat healthy.

I use skim milk.

I eat wheat bread.

Okay, phew, I’m exhausted.


Now here are the areas that may need some improvement:


For those members of the commonwealth that are overweight or obese, we suggest 60 minutes of physical activity 5 times a week. When I'm at my best, I get in 3 workouts a week.

When I am not eating healthy, I am most likely binging.

I only use skim milk for cereal. I never eat cereal.

I do not, and cannot begin to imagine that I ever would, carry around a Nalgene bottle full of water, to drink at my leisure. In fact, I only drink water when I realize I am literally DYING OF THIRST, or to avoid an awkward conversation with someone I barely know who’s also standing in the small kitchen room at work.

Take the stairs instead. Such simple advice. Do you know how hard it is to take 4 flights of stairs and not be out of breath? And the ceilings are really high at work, making for extra tall staircases. Just so you know.

Who in their right mind gets in 5 servings of vegetables and fruits a day? I’ve been stuffing my face with fruit lately just to reach my quota, and go home with an undigested lump in my throat on an almost daily basis. The other night I threw up in my mouth after I burped three different times. So not only am I the perfect picture of health, I’m sexy too.

Speaking of fruit, I love eating fruit you don’t have to wash. Like bananas. I never wash other fruit, but at least with a banana there’s no guilt.

You can go f yourself if you think I’m going to say “no bread” to the guy behind the Cosi counter.

And speaking of going somewhere to f yourself, I'm not going to eat a quarter of my cupcake we're having to celebrate a co-workers birthday. I will eat my whole cupcake, plus the 3/4 left over from yours.

Whole grain pasta. um. I don't wanna.

Celery as a snack. Also a no. And if you sit near me on this quiet floor and think it’s a good idea to snack on celery, ...it isn't.

A handful of nuts is a healthy snack. And if by “handful” we mean “as many nuts you can stuff your face with so you become as nauscious as possible without actually vomiting”, then at least I’m doing SOMEthing right.

The last time I ordered grilled chicken and a salad while I was out to eat was when I was 25 pounds heavier and desperate to lose weight. So, I think it's fair to tell myself that ordering grilled chicken and salad will make me fatter.


In summary, ...I am gross and have no business working here.

Mani and a Pedi Please?

Later today I'm going to try and sneak in a manicure and pedicure. Let's start there. I hate saying mani and pedi. Or mani pedi. It really embarrasses me. I think it makes me sound like a stereotypical superficial annoying girl, the same way I feel when I have to ask the gas attendant to help me fill up my tires, or when I park crooked by mistake.

So, by now, you know I'm not a huge fan of small talk. You're usually not a fan of things you stink at. I'm also not good at understanding people with strong accents. Therefore, I'm not a fan of those conversations either. So when I'm face-to-face with a woman with a strong accent who wants to do small talk, you can imagine my uneasiness.

If they have a tv, I watch it. If there are magazines within reach, I grab them. If they have a fish tank, I'm staring at it. Anything to avoid conversation. I give one word answers with a smile. I never know what they ask so I try to think of the most acceptable way to reply. "ohh haha." "yup!" ...I can't think of any more, those are my only two replies.

I sound like a bitch, right? But I can promise you, I don't think thats how I come off.

There is something about being in a nail salon that suddenly brings on all these feelings of inadequacy, ...more than usual. I feel out of place, like I don't belong there and don't deserve manicures and pedicures, and they know it! I think they pity me, and talk to me like a child and give me condescending smiles and speak in their language about how retarded I am. I think.

Throw my mother into the mix, and it becomes unbearable . This is something we do for fun with eachother every couple of months. Except, I'm not sure why, because its never fun for us. We always end up wanting to cry-laugh or fighting. As soon as we step in the door this wave of self-consciousness settles in and we might as yell, "Listen up! We are the Telian girls and we're here to make everyone around us feel as physically and mentally uncomfortable as possible!" Finding a place to hang her coat, knowing where to go to pick a color, when to go sit down, undersatnding what they just said, what to ask for, how to pay, when to pay, how much to tip, ...it's all so painful, and its the same each and every time, like, we/she never learns the routine.

So sometimes I'll go alone. Which I don't mind and its fine usually, until they start scrubbing my feet. Do you KNOW what its like to giggle, alone, when a stranger is doing something that tickles you? Do you understand how UNCOMFORTABLE you're making that person by accusing them of tickling your feet?

I guess I could just start painting them myself again and maybe grab ice cream with mum instead. It would be worth the extra calories, for all parties involved.