Leftover Bruschetta.

When it started, I cannot say. How it started, I cannot say. All I know is, this morning I woke up and quit my job. Luckily, said job involved me taking dirty dishes off of lavishly decorated tables into a messy contaminated kitchen where they would be washed and then filled to the brim with some sort of Italian sauce and pasta. On the weekends, I was granted the privilege to step away from bussing tables and instead construct and plate hundreds of tiny salads accompanied with a variety of dressings. This means it was an easily replaceable job. As a matter of fact, two minutes after quitting I was hired elsewhere. Where? I will be my Father’s secretary at the business he owns. I cannot tell you what his job entails. No, it’s not because I would have to kill you afterwards. It’s because I have no clue what the man does. Sometimes he takes phone calls and sometimes he is “busy” (playing Farmville).  He believes that I will be learning about the family business and acquiring knowledge of the business world. I can’t say that isn’t true. I very well may learn a few things, all the while listening to Pandora in the background. Already, this job seems more satisfying and I haven’t even started yet.

The problem with bussing tables was that I was looked at and spoken to like I was the leftover Bruschetta that I would later scrape into the garbage can. I did my best to blend in and not make myself noticeable to the owners of this fancy little Italian restaurant. Obviously, I was unsuccessful. It was probably my ill ironed shirt and my unmistakably lack of enthusiasm that made them zoom in on all my mistakes. These are just some of the things that these oh-so-kind business owners taught me during my three month work period as their bitch.

1.       A towel should never be referred to as a “rag.” Doing so, apparently, makes you seem uneducated and unprivileged. Though, I will argue that I use TOWELS to dry my body after showering and a RAG to clean the countertops in my kitchen at home. Do I need to reiterate the fact that I bused tables? I was not a professional body dryer, in which case, I would use a TOWEL.

2.       Always leave the back of your shirt un-tucked. This will allow you the pleasure of having a fifty-something year old Italian woman shoving her hand down the back of your pants to “get that for you”. This was a real satisfying experience for me. I would recommend that this happen at every work place. It really gives you a new perspective to the Boss/Worker relationship.

3.       When sweeping outdoors, you want to make sure to include the flower beds. You wouldn’t want to miss out on all the fun dirt action going on there. Once, I missed doing this. Don’t worry, my boss showed me how it was done. It appeared that I liked sweeping flower beds so much I was given the chance to continue doing so off the clock. I swore to myself that I would make this my new hobby. I am sorry to say that since that magical October night I have not participated in said activity. That will change tonight. Good thing it snowed two days ago, this will be fun and rewarding on a whole new level.

4.       Never ask a customer, “Sir, are you still working on your dinner or would you like for me to box it for you?” Always say, “Sir, are you enjoying your meal...” I’m unaware what is supposed to follow this eloquent first part of the question. I will leave it to your own judgment. Go with what seems comfortable. I would, however, not end it with, “…or does it taste like shit?” That just doesn’t seem acceptable to me. Then again, I don’t own a restaurant. So, give it a whirl and see what happens.

There is plenty more that I learned during my time as a busser, I just don’t have the interest in sharing about them any longer. I have found these tidbits to be enough to please myself and feel as though they won’t matter by tomorrow. When that happens, my point will be proven. I will forget my time as a busser as bussing will forget me; I pray. All that I have left to say is directed to my ex-bosses. Taste the Italian dressing at the salad bar. Oops.