charm and efficiency.

Josh started a new job waiting tables. He's never been a server before, and leading up to his first day, he was nervous. That's natural, of course, but I knew he'd be great at it. The boy is a charmer. It seems sometimes that either he was uniquely designed to charm me or I was uniquely designed to be charmed by him, but he seems to have a way with others, too. It must be the Southern accent. Or maybe the smile he flashes when he knows he's being charming, which is in itself charming. I'm such a sucker.

Which reminds me. We got a letter in the mail last week, addressed to both of us from his grandmother Sarah (pronounced Say-ruh). I was driving and asked him to read it, since it was addressed halfway to me after all. He read the whole thing aloud in an imitation of his grandmother's voice. My boyfriend is so cute.

Anyway, once he started working at the restaurant, he discovered that it was easy-peasy. Sure, he's already dropped a plate (empty) and spilled a drink on a customer, but these things happen. It's all about charm and efficiency. And when efficiency fails, just throw on some more charm. Some of you probably don't believe me, but you're just a sucker, too.

So there has been a sudden surge of restaurant talk between us. He's asked me general stuff about serving, and I've promised to teach him how to do wine service. He's picking up the lingo, too. And I've asked him a bunch of stuff about how this particular restaurant works, because they all have their quirks. In fact, I've been a little surprised at my own eagerness to hear about the place. Why do I care whether they use a Point-of-Sale system or not? I went in for lunch on Labor Day to check the place out and be a supportive girlfriend. From the moment I walked in the door to the moment I left, he had the goofiest smile on his face. I wondered if that was part of his waiter persona, in which case, he might be getting sympathy tips from customers who think that the restaurant owner must be getting a tax write-off for hiring the mentally handicapped.

I miss waiting tables sometimes, and I'm not really sure why. It's a great job to have in terms of unskilled labor. The potential for money is good and you meet a lot of interesting people. You learn things about food and wine and develop time management skills. Sometimes it's even fun. But I went into computers for a reason: I am not a people person. After a shift at the restaurant, I would come home and not want to talk to anyone at all for hours. I needed solitude.

Perhaps it's just nostalgia. If I had to put on dress pants and an apron again, I might find that waiting tables was only enjoyable in hindsight. Maybe the only thing that made it enjoyable then was the knowledge that it wasn't permanent.

Josh was asking me about making money last week. At one restaurant where I worked, a standard weekend night meant about $120 in a six hour shift. In the other restaurant, I made less money on average, though I did take $200 one day after a double shift during the peak fall leaf season. He was impressed. Yes, there is money to be made in serving. Then I told him that a friend of mine had made $300 in a single night shift on Valentine's Day at a nicer place down the street.

"Wow, that's like $60 an hour."

"Yup." I love it when he does math.

"That's almost as much as a programmer makes."

Okay, I don't make anywhere near $60 an hour. But I do consistently make more per hour than I made on my best days at the restaurant. And I might talk about $200 days, but there were some $15 days, too. I didn't have benefits, and I was on my feet all the time. There was cleaning and lemon-cutting and having people treat me like a servant. I had to pretend that the customer was always right, always being gracious, always deferential.

Maybe I don't miss waiting tables so much after all.