Today was a dreary, drizzly day in my part of the country.  The kind of day made for enjoying a hot cup of tea and a good book.  As I sat in the coffee shop at my little table I tried to enjoy both, but I was too distracted by the many thoughts rumbling about in my head to concentrate.  Love in the Time of Cholera would have to wait for another day; for now, Earl Grey was the best company for my head.*** 

The coffee shop was empty except for me and the two employees on duty. Their casual chatter was thin but chipper as they cleaned and stocked, bustling about in effort to keep themselves busy until things picked up.  I watched them in their dance for a while and wondered if they really enjoyed their jobs or if it was simply something they did to pick up a few bucks - it certainly couldn't pay that much to work there. They were young, and this seemed to be a good 'get from here to there' kind of job.  I think I probably would have liked it when I was their age. When the joint is jumping, it's truly jumping and interaction with the customers is key to keeping the clientele coming back again and again.  Well, that and a great cup of coffee (or tea) of course. But these kids are terrific at what they do on all counts so I'd say they really enjoy it.  They earn their money, that's for sure, even if it's not much.

Watching them reminded me of one of my first jobs out of high school.  I was young, bright, and adventurous; the world was waiting for me to take it by storm! 

So I took a job waiting tables at local truck stop. 

That's right - a truck stop.  Not exactly taking the world by a storm, was it?  And not necessarily a terrific first choice if you've never waited tables and you're 18, but if you're a quick learner and don't mind an occasional pat on the backside it's not so bad.  I loved it.  The pay was horrible but I didn’t care.  I knew how to make great tips - even if my waitressing skills might have been lacking here and there, I learned quickly that a smile and a wink went a long way.  And if there was one thing I could do well it was flirt.  Service with a smile…or a shimmy.    

In truth, waitressing at that little truck stop was a perfect first job for me. It became more than simply a means to earn a few dollars and flirt all day.  I learned what it was to work hard – and believe me, waiting tables is damn hard work.  I went home with a nicely padded pocket from the tips I’d earned but I also went home with throbbing feet, an aching back, and plenty of times I burned myself on hot plates or coffee pots.  I learned to listen, to organize myself, and to think on my feet while working a few steps ahead of where I am and what I’m doing at the moment. 

The most important thing I learned there was this: I thrive on caring for other people and seeing that they’re comfortable.  Making my customers feel special and fawning over them wasn’t simply flirting – well, not all the time anyway – I wanted them to be comfortable and happy while they were there. By its nature, a truck stop is regularly filled with road weary, worn travelers, tired and far from home. They needed more than just the daily special, they needed a kind word and a smile.  I was more than happy to share.  The travels of their day could have taken them anywhere but somehow they found their way to a one of my tables, and so they were my guests.  Some came back time and gain, some I never saw again, but it mattered to me that, either way, they left knowing I was glad to see them arrive and sorry to see them go - you can't order that off any menu.

***Corrected, thank you Cartouche!