Or so read the slip of paper I found buried in one of my vest's decorative pockets.
If you haven't been keeping up I must wear a vest at my new job, waiting tables, and it makes perfect sense to me. It's Summer. Hot. Humid. I need more layers as I'm running around the restaurant, schlepping tapas for Lincoln Park's elite. It's possible that I could sweat more if I was wearing, maybe, a triple down skiing jacket. Nothing is more appetizing than some pudgy, red-faced, sweat-soaked, newbie waiter running up to your table and saying, "Welcome to (Fill In Blank)! Can I start you off with a pitcher of Sangria? Oh, and try the seared octopus. It's to die for!"
But seriously folks, today was my first 'solo' shift. I was supposed to get a half a section for my trial run. Unfortunately with the monsoon-ish rain we didn't get busy till later, half my half section was dripping water from the ceiling, and then 2 of my tables were the last tables to leave the restaurant at the end of the night. Not the most ideal of shifts. But it can only get better. Most everyone that I work with is friendly, and willing to help the new kid out. As for the clientele... well that's always a crap shoot anyway, I guess.
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