Today I’m spilling my guts out about working in restaurants and coffeeshops as a college kid and the big, bold reason that think it’s so valuable. Plus, a hot take on Mother’s Day.

THE HORROR STORIES & LOVE STORIES

At the end of last year this kind of comedically tragic thing happened to me. But let me first preface that event with some embarrassing stories that I never thought I would put on the internet.

So last October I was coming up on a year of working at this boujee restaurant in downtown San Diego. And as much as anyone can ever really love a service job, I loved this one. I would go to school during the week and spend my weekends working. There were always farmer’s markets and concerts and fun things happening that would make the city vibrate with a kind of energy that was infectious. I may have been getting somewhat abused by the (hungry) general public for not giving them a table that they liked or for the food taking too long, but I was a living, breathing part of a metropolis. I always felt that. It would get so busy that I would literally hide in the bathroom for about two and half minutes just to bring myself back from the brink of insanity. Not completely, but just enough. I think we all did this.

How else do you put up with being constantly criticized by grown adults who either disliked the table that they were given or, if there was a list, felt that they shouldn’t have to wait for a table at all. People could never understand why there was a wait if there were tables clearly open. Sometimes I would launch into the logistics of reservations or the necessity of putting a hold on the door in order to allow an understaffed kitchen to catch up on orders but mostly, because no one really wanted to hear these things, I would just smile that sickening sweet smile that all service workers know and say one of those corporate-approved lines that they make you say like “Hi! Thank you for visiting us. We will be happy to serve you in about fifteen minutes”. It would amaze you the things that people will do and say in order to circumvent rules. Everyone thinks that they are special. So it was terrible, but in that exhilarating kind of way that you could never quite bring yourself to walk away from, even when you were hiding in the bathroom doing breath work.

The funny thing about that place was that it was all girls, with the exception of one male barista who I was, of course, tragically in love with. And I mean tragically. He had that thing that some people just have. He was magnetic, and he knew it. He was also an artist and I was a writer so our conversations were stupidly interesting and that really just killed me. I used to take all of my breaks at the bar so that I could talk to him as he made exotic drinks. It’s important to note that this was before I learned how to make anything, so I found it all quite cool and impressive. Also, he was twenty-five. I was nineteen. It was a brilliant, beautiful disaster just waiting, just begging, to happen. I was practically a moth to a flame. It was death itself. But what else is a nineteen year old girl to do when the cute, older guy with little tattoos all over his perfect forearms makes you free smoothies and offers to drive you to your car after shift? It was a trap sent from Lucifer himself and I thought that that was hot as hell.

Well, what happened? We ended up getting coffee once and nothing really happened after that. The whole age thing was pretty problematic and I got the feeling that he liked flirting with everyone without actually falling for any of them so I sort of just suppressed all of my undying love and moved on. He still remains one of the most magnetic people I have ever met. But that’s not the point.

THAT TIME I GOT BLINDSIDED BY CORPORATE AMERICA

The aforementioned tragedy occurred much later on, long after lover boy had left. I had become extremely close with my coworkers and especially with one of my managers in all of the ways that I never could with the delinquents who populated my university. It was the family I never found in college. We cried and laughed and screamed together. They were who I told things to and who cheered me on with my dreams. Then, overnight, a mass email was sent out admitting that the place was partially shutting down. I was out of a job by the end of the week. I don’t even think it was legal. I remember how they just kept telling us that they had “dropped the ball”. I mean yeah, a wrecking ball. I also remember literally bawling as I signed the papers. They closed the doors completely about two months later.

But the good thing, if you have been reading for a bit, is that I recently got another job at a local coffeeshop. And working there has brought up all of these memories and reminded me why I love working these weekend jobs in the service industry (said no one ever, I know).

SOME GOOD THINGS

For what I’m really trying to get with all of this at is some larger thesis about the unexpected ways in which service jobs allow us to express ourselves and forge bonds with random samplings of humanity. For my hands down, favorite thing about working in restaurants and coffee shops is the opportunity for those tiny, beautiful moments of human connection.

Let me explain. I already told you the awful parts of working with the general public. The hiding in the bathroom and wanting to pull your hair out. But the thing that would get me through? The thing that would put an authentic smile on my face and drop my shoulders back down to their natural position? The regulars. I remember this one family that would come in every Sunday for brunch. They had a little girl and a new baby that the dad was always taking outside during their meal and holding close to his chest while the mother fed the toddler inside. They had so much love. It stained their faces. And every week, all of that love came rolling up my to my host stand. Eventually, I started saving them their favorite table, the only one that they could park the stroller right next to, and making sure it was all set with crayons and coloring sheets. It was the best feeling, seeing them every week. They were just one of the dozens of regulars that gave that job its everyday value. There was also the older woman with the purple eyeliner who I would always talk fashion with, the adorable couple who had a pet pig in their city apartment, and, honestly, even that one woman who would come in every week to sit down and talk loudly on her phone during her entire meal that always, always, had to have extra garlic and a side of kid’s tomato soup. She had this way of flagging you down for more garlic while simultaneously eating and speaking into her phone. I can still picture it perfectly. It was a riot. It was a community. And even when it made you want to pull your hair out, it made you feel connected to the world, the real world, in that priceless kind of way.

Working at this coffeeshop, I’m feeling that connection again. Not just with coworkers and regulars, but with perfect strangers. The ones that come in and make your day with their smile or some little comment about life that you didn’t know how much you needed. I think that there is a kind of reciprocity there that we all maybe live for. All differences cease to matter and you just get to connect for a few moments as two humans floating on the same rock before branching back apart again. We leave our fingerprints on people that way. I think it’s beautiful. I can be digging my nails into my palms during a rush, but I don’t think I would actually want to be anywhere else. I sort of love it.

What service jobs did you work in your teens and twenties? Do you have horror stories and loves stories too?

A HOT TAKE ON MOTHER’S DAY

I happen to have a gem of a mother. She’s my best friend. She’s selfless and supportive and has a never-ending well of unconditional love for our family. So this day is easy for me. But I understand that it’s not easy for a lot of people. And there are so many reasons why. Death, abuse, neglect, infertility, etc. And because these aren’t exactly things that society is going to be sensitive of today, with it being another opportunity for capitalism to thrive and all, I’ve decided to be sensitive about it here.

So here is to all the wonderful mother’s, yes! Women are the closest thing that this earth has ever seen to magic. We’re basically supernatural. And any woman who has created, fostered, or cared for a human life deserves more than a shout out.

But really here is to the children of the not-so-wonderful mothers. And to the children who have lost their mothers. And to the women trying everything under the sun to become mothers. And to anyone who feels pain on this day. I think that Mother’s Day should be about maternal love, no matter where it comes from or what it looks like. For that’s something that you can go out and see everyday in this world. I’ve known countless motherly figures, most of which have not had any children at all. They are magic too.

So whatever today means for you, all my love.

JOIN THE FUN

Subscribe to give your inbox something to look forward to.