Linear Civic- Engagement Hypertext

Do you remember the last time you went to a restaurant? I bet it was a nice place. Did you enjoy your stay there? Did you enjoy your food? I bet your waitress was a woman. Do you even remember what she looked like? Do you remember how much you tipped your waitress? Or did you give her a lousy tip, because perhaps she seemed a little absent minded. Did you take into account that perhaps your waitress could be having a bad day? Struggling with alcoholism? Drug addiction? Spousal abuse? On top of it all, I bet her feet were hurting, and her back as well. That waitress is me. No, I am not a victim of alcoholism, drug addiction or abuse. But I am a victim of sexism, disrespect and exploitation in the waitressing business. Welcome to my Hypertext Civic Engagement Exploration: A Waitress of Many Faces. I invite you to view my first page, A Job of Disrespect. Thank you. Enjoy your day and please come again!
What is a the meaning of “waitress,” anyway? A person who serves others? More specifically, a woman who serves? A woman who delivers foods to the tables of a restaurant's customers? Let's see what others think a waitress is:
The online Oxford English Dictionary, gives several definitions, the first being:

1. A waiting-maid, handmaid.

the second:

2. A woman who waits upon the guests at a hotel, restaurant, etc. Also one hired for a similar purpose on special occasions to supplement the staff of a private household.
Unfortunately, sometimes I really did feel like a maid. Part of my duties as a waitress at the "Restaurant" included cleaning the bathrooms, doing dishes, and mopping floors. Yes, I suppose it is a very lowly job, but I never wanted to regard myself or my coworkers as a maid. Our job was supposed to have an element of class and respect. But I'll admit, it very rarely was like that.
The crude, but heavily used Urban Dictionary defines a waitress as the following:

1. a person who isn't paid enough to kiss the ass of some bastard who has had a bad day at the office and needs to take it out on someone.

2. Someone who brings food to a fat bastard who is perving on her and then gets tipped but only if she sleeps with the customer.
I relate to the first definition in my experience as a waitress. However, it is unfortunate that a waitress is first assumed to be an "ass-kisser" in order to pay her bills. Can we not have any honor in our work? It is frustrating receiving so little respect when the job requires so much work, concentration, strength and determination. Further, I find the second definition utterly offensive. A waitress is not a prostitute, and while I am not wagging my finger at these women, should not be confused as one. When a waitress is seen as a sexual object, something is off with the social order. The women I worked with were not prostitutes, but hard working women who fought to make ends meet every day.
Lastly, the Webster online Dictionary puts it this way:

1. a woman waiter.

But more interestingly enough, and quite offensively, synonyms are included as:

- bunny, bunny girl.
Upon research, I found that "bunny girl" refers to the women who work at Play Boy houses, equipped with the little leotard satin suit, fluffy tail, neck tie, ears; you get the idea. This is definitely, without a doubt, not a synonym for the type of waitress I was nor the type of women I worked with. It is misjudgments and stereotypes like these that make us sexual objects of desire for men.
I was a waitress in High School. It was my first job, well that’s if you don’t count babysitting, or working at that shady café where they never asked me to sign a W4, and my paychecks were made out to “Lydia.” So, waitressing: for confidentiality purposes, we’ll call it the “Restaurant.” It was probably one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life up until then. It was the first time that I have been disrespected by adults, those people that I have always been taught to admire and respect. It is also the first time that my behavior or expertise has been rewarded with money. At the "Restaurant," we pooled our tips. This seemed like a good idea at first. All waitresses would have their tips pooled at the end of the night, and we would all make the same amount in tips for the entire day. This was supposed to encourage teamwork between waitresses, which usually happened. Although, we also had to share our tips with the cooks, and this wasn’t just a recommendation. Our tips were given out to the cooks so they made the same amount as we did. This also was supposed to encourage a sense of community. Except, whenever one of my customers would want something special or extra with their meal, I would have to beg the cooks to do it for me, or bribe them by doing more dishes, or helping out with cleaning the mats that night. This never seemed fair. I always wanted to scream at the cooks, do you know that I am out there making your tips? Help me out here! Of course I never did, I was young, and the cooks were very intimidating. I mean, they had knives and cauldrons of boiling water for goodness sake.

Besides from working with other waitresses, and sucking up to the cooks so they don't "accidentally" ruin my orders, I often struggled with the customers. Though I was a good waitress, I was young, and so oftentimes customers would take advantage of me. Customers at restaurants primarily deal with the waitress, unless something really awful occurs. So, it is very common that customers blame the waitress for what goes on. I suppose this is part of her job, but really, it never seemed fair. The waitress is merely the one who takes orders and delivers food. If food is late, bad, cold, or too expensive, it is utterly not the waitress’s fault. But, of course, this is not how the customers see it.                       

Though waitresses are viewed as incredibly low-end jobs, they are deemed with incredible amounts of work and responsibility. And as Ehrenreich can contend, "about a third of a server's job is ‘side work’ invisible to customers-- sweeping, scrubbing, slicing, refilling, and restocking" [5]. I really think that many customers do not know this, believing selfishly that the server's only duty is to wait on them hand and foot.
           
Another struggle I really had to deal with was the incredible pain and hurt that my body endured. We suffered from hurt feet, backs, arms, and legs. Things beyond my physicality hurt too. My mind was tired, my feelings were hurt, my pride wounded. The stress on my body and mind took its toll. It was an incredibly tough job, but I learned so much from it, and my mind was opened to many different kinds of women with struggles far beyond my sore feet.
This one time, I had a customer from hell. At the "Restaurant," we call these kind of folks “high maintenance.” This term is deemed on those who have food allergies, (like one of our regulars, who was allergic to practically everything except salmon and lemons), a desperate desire for water without ice and lemon, a need for a double cushion under their well fed bodies, extra bread, the list goes on. Well, this young girl was with her parents, and she wanted a burger. I mean, really, why go to a higher-end nice restaurant if you want a burger. Well, here’s how the conversation went:

HM Girl (that’s “High Maintenance” Girl): I’ll have the burger… with fries.
Waitress (that’s me!): Okay! Well, the burger comes with a salad or soup, we don't have fries. (suppress eye roll)
HM Girl (huff, extremely annoyed): Fine, I’ll have soup… French onion.
Waitress (thinking: seriously? Why would you assume we have French onion soup??): Oh, I’m sorry, our soups are actually Tomato Basil Florentine or Cream of Asparagus.
HM Girl: Fine, I’ll have the salad, with ranch dressing.
Waitress (thinking: shit): Our dressings are Garlic Mediterranean, Blue Cheese or Balsamic Vinegar and Olive Oil.
HM Girl (Sighs, supremely annoyed, looks at Mom for help, poor thing. Then, says with disdain): Garlic Mediterranean then.
Waitress: Perfect. Would you like anything to drink?
HM Girl: Pepsi
Waitress ( dammit): We have Coke, is that okay? (smiles)
HM Girl (Blaming me that we don't have Pepsi): Fine. Whatever.

Not only were customers annoying or picky though. They were sometimes utterly disrespectful and oftentimes offensive.
With research, and knowledge of personal experience, I have found an obviously unequal power distribution between server and customer. For example, I was trained as a server to introduce myself to each table, telling them my first name. This was supposed to aid in their good treatment as a customer of the "Restaurant." However, this gave them much power over me during their stay there. It was absolutely out of the question to ask a customer's name, but completely appropriate for them to know me. They now had the ability to call out my name when they needed something, even if I was in the middle of another task (which I assure you, there were always an over-abundance of extra things to do.) They could also complain about me to themselves, or to my manager or worse, to my boss. They had my name to black mail me, intimidate me, and call on me as often as I wanted. But I did not know their name. It was at once a“…one-sided, first-name-based relationship with a nameless restaurant patron” [1]. They had power over me, but I was only able to call them "sir" or "ma'am" in the events of sticking up for myself.


One evening, I was serving in an in-door section, and had to walk through another server's section to arrive in mine. As I walked by, I heard a throat clear:

male customer (huge jerk): Um, excuse me, can we get some bread?? (Their food had arrived, and I guess their server had forgotten bread)
Waitress (that's me): Oh of course! I'll be right back. (We help each other out, even if each other's customers are huge jerks-- like this one)
(I return, with bread, and smiling, set it down on the table. I turn to leave--as I have customers of my own-- but...)
male customer: BUTTER???? (said with the most offended face, and an upturned hand, like I am a huge idiot)
Waitress: Oh, of course. I'll be right back. (I return with the butter and set it down silently. He of course, does not thank me. I want so bad to scream: "Look, buddy, I'm not your slave. I'm not even your fucking waitress. Screw you!!" But of course, I don't).

In later speculation, I realized, he probably thought I was his waitress. But it was still no reason to treat me so disrespectfully. We are all women, wearing the same uniform and green apron. In further speculation, it is completely rude and degrading that he thought I was his waitress. Did he not even look at his server in the eye when she took his order? Was she just a faceless object to carry out his wishes? This actually would often happen in the "Restaurant"-- customers not even regarding their servers as human beings, but as servants. They didn't even know what we looked like.

Oftentimes, because of my young age, customers made huge assumptions. Because I was young, customers would worriedly ask me if I was in school. Usually tagged with an endearing term of "honey" or "sweetie." I hated that. I started serving when I was sixteen, and continued working summers after my freshman and sophomore year of college. When I was sixteen, I looked pretty young, so sometimes people would ask if I was even old enough to work there. That really pissed me off. Once someone asked me if I was twelve! I was almost nineteen that summer. God, how I wanted to "accidently" spill his drink down his shirt. Well, when I returned to the "Restaurant" after my freshman year, someone asked me, "Are you in school, honey?" I was so tempted to say, no, that I was a pregnant high school drop out, so please give me a good tip so my baby can eat tonight. But I was trained well, so I never played pranks on customers, even if they really deserved it, and it would have been really fun. But, I never did. I was a good, well-behaved waitress.

Once, someone asked me what school I was going to. When I told him where, he scoffed and said, "Whoa, rich daddy, huh?" God, I was so utterly enraged. I still get mad just thinking about it. How dare him assume anything about me! I'll admit it was interesting that he would assume something of wealth from me, because all other assumptions were closer to poverty. It was rather idiotic of him to assume I have a rich "daddy" because if I did, then why would I be busting my ass waitressing? I think I just mumbled something like no, I have to take loans actually. What a bastard. I should've just lied and said my daddy was dead, or something, just to open his eyes to his stupidity. Why even assume that I have a father? He knew nothing about me.


One day, I was in a very good mood and decided to take special care of one table in particular. Well, when I brought them extra bread with their entree, the man said to me, "What, are you fishing for a big tip or something?" God, I wanted to punch him. There went my good mood. So I couldn't treat them well just because I felt like it, or wanted to make them happy? Was I automatically self-centered, with selfish intentions because I was a waitress?

Other than assuming things about my economic status, customers sometimes assumed things about my romantic status, we'll say...           
A couple times, people assumed that I was much more sexually promiscuous than I actually am. Well, when men continued to flirt with me to such a degree, I bought a glass diamond ring. Yes, now I was the completely off-limits engaged waitress. Unfortunately, that didn't really work. Well, one day I was up at the bar, and an old man walked out of the restroom. He was one of my customers. He told me "Miss, you have a million dollar smile, and you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life." Then, he went to his table and sat down with his wife. Maybe I should loosen up and take the compliment, but as an eighteen year old, I couldn't quite take this innocently from a sixty-year-old married man. What were his implications? His intentions? I tried avoiding that table a bit more after that.

When I was nineteen, a man came into visit the “Restaurant,” as he had once worked there before I started working. I hadn't met him before, but was in a particularly good mood when I met him. I guess he assumed that I was flirting with him, because when I went into the empty kitchen, he followed me. He came up behind me, and said "Oh, your hair really is strawberry blonde." I shivered a bit when I turned around to see him close behind me. "So," he said, what are you doing after work?" I told him, "Going home" (to my mom, I wanted to say). "Oh," he said, "got work in the morning, huh?" Did he really think I would go out with him just on the spur of the moment? Maybe people do that in the real world, but I was really young then. Didn't he see that?

One customer in particular took actions in pursuing me. I was hostessing that evening, as we all switched off playing that role. When I sat him and his friend down at a table, he stuck out his hand to meet me, and asked my name. I (stupidly) told him my name and shook his hand, he held my hand hard and just stared into my eyes. My smile quickly vanished, and I had to pull my hand away with force. I walked away, and as I turned a corner, saw that he watched me walk away. As I continued to seat people, I started getting a little scared as he continued to stare, even craning his neck at times. It turned out that (I guess) he was relatively harmless, but I felt totally vulnerable, not being able to leave. The next morning, I bought my ring.

Maybe people would say that I should be flattered by this attention. But I assure you I do not receive this attention without the apron. What is it about the apron that makes a woman so sexy? Or how does it change me, making me obviously more appealing to men? Do these men assume that I am automatically "easy" because I am a waitress? What are they thinking? I am not the type of girl that just gets picked up, and am certainly not easy, but something about my apron said it, and apparently louder than my real demeanor. But, what are the implications that an apron says about a waitress after all?

For another perspective, cocktail waitressing might be even harder than the type of waitressing I practiced. Cocktail waitresses are the women who serve at casinos, bringing trays of drinks to tables, adorned in short dresses and high heals. This job is in a way much more glamorous than the type at the "Restaurant." These women are often beautiful, with stereotypically sexy and feminine bodies. I cannot, however, envy their shoes. My feet, adorned in the puffiest, most supportive (and extremely hideous) shoes I could find, still would hurt after a long day at work. However, is their work all glamour? Studies have shown that these women go through much discrimination, struggles and pain, just as we did at the "Restaurant." These casino waitresses must wear at least two inch heals when they are serving. Beyond these uncomfortable shoes, they also must wear extremely revealing and promiscuous short dresses. Women often feel degraded and objectified because they must wear such promiscuous dresses [3]. Further, the interview process depends heavily on the femininity and, inevitably, sexiness of a woman's body. If a woman is fit, attractive, sexy, "well-endowed" shall we say, she will have a better chance of being hired as a cocktail waitress [3]. However, these women have become icons for casinos, and without them, many people believe that much would be taken away from the casino experience.


One of the women I worked with was a single mother with two children. One evening, she was serving two customers, presumably a husband and wife. When the woman was in the bathroom, the man asked the waitress, "So, are you married?" She replied that No, she wasn't, but that she had two kids. He then replied, "Oh, well, I'll give you a little pushin' in the cushion." When she told me this, I was outraged, but she didn't really seem to think much of it. She made the usual excuse that he was drunk, but I felt so offended that a customer would assume that one of us would sleep with him. Because she was a waitress, she was immediately assumed to be an easy target. These women respect themselves, are hard working individuals with struggles of their own. I was so offended that anyone would assume otherwise.

The women I worked with were incredibly complex, hard working, deep, struggling individuals. As a naive sixteen year old, I began working at the "Restaurant." These women had real-life struggles like alcoholism, spousal abuse and extreme economic struggle that put my young high-school dramas into an immediate perspective. Despite their struggles, they found it in them to love and support one another unconditionally.
When I first started working there, I didn't know what shoes to wear, so I wore my Converse. This was immediately an awful idea, as my feet burned that night after working hard all day long. I experimented with wearing different shoes every day that week, but nothing helped, my feet were so sore every night that I could barely walk. I iced my feet every evening that summer, and couldn't walk around barefoot because of the painful bruises on my heals. I was a young, healthy, strong teenager, and yet, was suffering. I cannot imagine how these women, these 40, 50 and even 60 something-year-olds do it.

Beyond my trivial physical pain, the women I worked with had problems far worse than mine. Two women were struggling alcoholics, and as a result, would often miss days of work. All the waitresses, cooks, and manager- who we called "Mama" - tried looking after them. It was so hard seeing a member of our family suffer so much. If I could help them in any way at the "Restaurant," I strove to. Be it refilling their waters or taking out food orders, we all tried to make their work life a little less stressful, because we knew of their deep struggles at home and internally.
One of these women showed up to work one day with bruises on her arm. She told me, "Yeah, my boyfriend Jose beat the shit out of me over the weekend." I was practically speechless. Sure, I'd seen movies about spousal abuse, but never looked at a victim in the eye. All I could do was listen to her, feel for her and support her. This poor woman, forever friendly, sociable, supportive, and an excellent waitress had more to bear than I could possibly imagine. I don't know how she even made it to work every morning.

The struggles that these women went through were incredible. But a unique struggle that they, and many waitresses, as research shows, struggle with is a sense of isolation. As studies have revealed, many waitresses only benefit from a social network of fellow waitresses, bar tenders, cooks, and the like. As Hearn and Stoll have found, waitresses do not have the benefit of social gatherings with neighbors like picnics, barbecuing, or birthday parties. The diversity of a waitress’s social network is extremely limited. This can lead to feelings of isolation. It is very healthy for individuals to benefit from diverse pools of friends, and because waitresses do not commonly have this luxury, they suffer further. I found this to be a trend within the "Restaurant."

We all called our manager "mama." It was a beautiful thing having such a supportive, loving woman to work with, but it made me sad to think that perhaps many of these women lacked a mother, and so relied on this woman for compassion. I also observed that these women regarded one another as best friends, and spent time together after work, or on days off. Many women have also lived together when times were really rough. They all regarded one another as family, loved one another, and relied on one another for support. It was so wonderful that they had one another to rely on, but there was an element of sadness in their brokenness and isolation. I do not think that these women had any other friends than themselves. Whereas people in my neighborhood would get together, these women didn't have traditional neighbors in their apartment complexes or trailer parks.

One woman I worked with was divorced, poor, a struggling alcoholic, and a resident of a local trailer park. One day, we were discussing how we were both single. I told her not to worry, that she would find someone someday. She said, "Really? I just don't know anymore. All I have is work here, and no one when I go home." It just about broke my heart when she told me this. Here was this beautiful, talented, friendly, loving woman; but most likely banished to isolation for the rest of her life. It was a brutal cycle. She had to continue to work to live, but with work, she could not meet anyone; she could not live. She was destined for a life of serving others, but never herself.

So who am I? Some bitch that just complains about how hard her life was as a waitress? A bitter young woman who faced disrespect, perspective, and sore feet as a teenager? No, I am a woman who is grateful and benefited from life-changing experiences as a waitress. Though it was extremely hard work, I am not saying I will never return to serving tables. My mind was opened to suffering blue-collar workers. I learned from the women I worked with, and my life was put into perspective by my association with their struggles that are far worse than anything I have ever faced. I am forever indebted to these strong women with whom I had the honor of working. I know the value and struggle of hard work, and the extreme sufferings that many struggling women have gone through. I am grateful to this day.