This past Saturday, I went out to dinner with some relatives and the waitress we had was amazing–the best server I’ve had in recent memory. She was attentive, genuinely enthusiastic (without being annoying), and had an incredibly positive attitude, not only about the menu, but pretty much all of life. It was as if there was no place else she’d rather be on a Saturday evening than in that restaurant with customers, her customers. Her rapport with diners was incredible, and she seemed to genuinely care about whether we were all having a thoroughly enjoyable gastronomic experience. If waitressing can be a calling, then it was hers because she took a thankless job to a higher place, even beyond artform…possibly ministry.
Hyperbole? Perhaps…
Three caveats cut against the sentiment expressed above.
First, our waitress was tall, reasonably attractive, and may have been performing some female jedi mindtrick on me.
Second, throughout most of Saturday’s dinner, I was slowly but surely (and unknowingly) descending into a flu-induced delirium that may have warped my perception of pretty much everything around me, including our waitress’s attractiveness. Or gender. My mind was that scrambled. For all I know, she could have been short, troll-like, and a man. Later that evening, two buddies of mine named Fever and Chills came over and played pattycake with my brain. Good times.
Third, my perception of Saturday’s dinner may have been colored by our dinner on Friday: that evening, we dined at a Chinese restaurant, where service can range anywhere from apathetic to openly hostile. Indeed, as we entered the restaurant, the maitre d’ welcomed us by attempting to shank my Dad with a shiv. We were only seated after Dad karate chopped a busboy in the neck (because he came after him with a bottle), and kicked the maitre d’ in the groin (just to watch him cry). After the chaos subsided, we prayed that the only thing they would do to our food was spit in it because saliva was the least noxious substance they could have slipped in. All in all, it was a pretty standard Chinese restaurant experience. After that, even semi-attentive service by a semi-attractive waitress may have seemed semi-divinely inspired.
Which brings me to this: two things actually reinforce my original sentiment about our waitress…or at least confirm that she was exceptionally good at her job for whatever reason.
First, hugs. While we were eating, a party led by two middle-aged women was being seated in our waitress’s service area, at a table next to ours. Our waitress immediately came by and gave the women big hugs as if they had been friends for years. It was clear that they were regulars. Later, the women commented that our waitress was the only one who had the patience to handle their party. It was evident that our waitress had a gift for connecting with people because I’ve never seen a waiter or waitress hug any diner before…except maybe at a Chinese restaurant. And that was more of a chokehold (Chinese chokehold: a deep fried hug with a side of asphyxiation).
Second, our waitress was wearing a big crucifix around her neck…and it just made sense.