Growing up, it was expected that my siblings and I would get a job as soon as we could drive.
Our parents bought us our first car. (My mom was very much in favor of us kids, her girls especially, having access to a car so that they could be independent. She didn’t want us waiting on a boyfriend to take us somewhere.)
If you had a car, you needed to pay for insurance and gas. To do that, a job was needed. School always came first, sports were always a given, and a job was needed. The balance worked for us.
My first ‘real’ job that didn’t include babysitting or working in the strawberry fields, was waiting tables at a small ‘Mom & Pop’ hometown restaurant. It also just happened to be the same restaurant where my mom, and a few of my aunts, worked when in high school.
I loved it.
Overall Memories
I really enjoyed my time spent waiting tables. It was gratifying anticipating diners needs before they had to ask for something (i.e. extra napkins, another Diet Coke, etc…) I was good at it and found most of the waitressing tasks enjoyable.
As a high school student, it wasn’t always easy to wake up for weekend morning at the restaurant, but I enjoyed that time the best. The smell of Paramount coffee brewing was invigorating. There’s just something about a small town restaurant waking up and coming to life as dawn breaks.
Weekend mornings brought out all of the Church goers coming in before service to grab a bite to eat. It meant coffee, servings of extra large pancakes, raisin toast for the older generation, and more coffee.
Another thing that was a constant beginning in the early mornings, and quite often moving into the early afternoon, was the ‘Farmers’ Table.’
The Habitual ‘Farmers’ Table’
I enjoyed waiting on all types of different people, but my all time favorite group to serve was the old men at the Farmers’ Table.
The ‘Farmers’ Table’ is a constant staple in small, rural towns across America. It really should be a documentary on Netflix. Maybe it already is. I’ll have to check into that.
The Farmers’ Table is a place where old men congregate to ‘shoot the sh*t.’ The conversation can center around anything from high school sports, politics, or the best way to mend a broken fence.
Now saying this, we do have to get one thing straight right away – the old men drinking coffee are not your best tippers. They usually are just drinking endless cups of coffee, while maybe eating an egg or two, a fresh Fried Cake donut, some raisin toast, but usually just a cup of strong, black coffee. From my experience working at a few different restaurants in my high school/college years, they leave some change, maybe a dollar or two, and then are on their way after a couple of hours of jabbering with their friends.
A good Farmer’s Table usually starts with a couple of farmers, meeting in the parking lot and walking in together to sit at the big, round table at the back of the restaurant.
Coffee is brought right to them, without a waitress having to ask for their order. The gentlemen usually enjoy this special treatment, with waitstaff already knowing what they would like to drink and just bringing to the table, sometimes setting it down at their chair before they even finish winding their way to their spot themselves.
When coffee is poured at the Farmers’ Table, it’s not uncommon to notice a few fingers missing here or there from some of the patrons. Machinery accidents are more typical than many may know. There are more than a ‘handful’ of customers (see what I did there?) where I could pour coffee into the cup while the farmer still kept his fingers over the rim. Usually I would get a nod and a wink as I just shook my head and smiled as I poured between the finger stub and the still attached fingers. Man, I miss that.
As the morning goes on, old men come and go, adding to the table and replacing others as someone gets up to leave in the pretense of going back to work. Half of the guys went by nicknames instead of their given names.
“Did you see Whitey come in?” I said to Meg, who was working the shift with me. “He took Red’s spot.”
“I missed him. I’ll go grab some coffee now,” she responded.
Some of the same old men sitting around the circle table in the back of Budd’s Restaurant were the same customers my mom and aunts served coffee to 20 years earlier.
To some, that may seem depressing. To me, it’s more like a stepping stone to a future with a foundation of good work ethics and responsibility.
It’s a strong memory.
Dirty Jokes & Pocket Money
I may have been an all ‘A’ student in high school, but I was fairly naive when it came to certain subjects.
The old men I waited on liked to tell me jokes – dirty jokes. Now, I didn’t always understand the jokes, but I would blush and wink at them before I took the coffee pot and moved on. They would just laugh and tease me.
I remember this one waitress that worked the day shift at Budd’s. When her shift was over, she would say, “I’m off like a prom dress,” as she emptied her tip cup in her apron and headed for the door.
It took me awhile to understand what that meant. 🙂 I was gullible and naive. I caught up around my Senior year.
It would be remiss of me if I didn’t mention the importance of cash money after a shift. I’m a successful teacher, in my later years of my career, and I still sometimes miss bringing home an apron of cash. I would come home, dump my apron on the kitchen table, and count it after a much-needed shower. I didn’t appreciate the availability of cash as much as I should have at the time.
There are times I throw the idea around about going back to waiting tables, part-time. The cash would be nice, as well as waiting on some of the diners.
Then I come to my senses. I look past the positives and think about the horrible working schedules and the occasional rude customers.
I’m good.
Goals for Today:
- Read – I’ve been Neglectful with my Reading Lately
- Take Care of Some Christmas Gifts/Decorations
- Take Out the Garbage