
It's been years since my fingertips have been so worn, but this summer instead of being worn from concrete, they've been worn by carrying hot plates to customers. I have been working as a waitress at JB's. I got the job extremely easily considering my husband is one of the managers, but no one there seems to mind the unfairness. I have trained myself to smile to the customers and not seem too anxious to get their flaming hot plate out of my hands. I'm afraid that one night I won't be able to make it to the table, that I will just drop their food on the ground and be done with the torture. I love it, though, when they sit there and stare at the food for awhile before realizing I have nowhere to put it. Then they clear a place for the plate to land. All the while I just have to stand there smiling while my fingertips scream. Then I smile, ask them if they need anything else, go behind the servers station, and stick my fingers in my ice water. Then I hear "Leanna!" from the cook's window, and I realize it's time to do it all over again.
Yes, I have greater respect for servers now, and a deeper longing to blister my fingertips in a more nostalgic way like by racing my brother around the pool in a silly game. It just made callused fingertips seem worth it.
1 comment:
This is a late comment, I know you posted this a while ago. I like the way the last little paragraph ties the whole together, and I like the "fingertips seem worth it" part.
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