|
At the end of the night, I have to close out the tab with my own tips, and I resent it to no end that the restaurant wouldn’t pay for it. It was a nice thing to do, the right thing, and they wouldn’t do it. It just shows their values, or lack thereof.
That’s how it starts.
It ends a few weeks later when a man who works for the Pepsi Corporation comes in and sits in my section. He orders a Pepsi, and I tell him (nicely) that we serve Coke products. He says he knows that, but if I want a tip I need to serve him a Pepsi. He has one in the car that he’ll bring in, he says, and he wants me to bring a glass with ice and he’ll pour the Pepsi into the glass.
“I’m not doing that,” I tell him. “Would you like to order a beverage from the restaurant? If so, I’ll be happy to get one for you.”
No, he wants to talk to a manager. I go into the kitchen and find Mike in the little office and tell him the story. “This guy’s crazy, right?”
“Yeah,” Mike agrees. “What table’s he at?”
I start traying up food for another table. Mike comes back in and tells me to go ahead and bring the customer a glass with ice so he can drink his Pepsi.
“What? Are you serious? Did he bribe you or something?”
Mike doesn’t answer. When I go to the table the guy is smiling—gloating really— with his can of Pepsi in front of him, and he tells me to bring him a glass with ice. I stare at him. There’s something about this that just isn’t right. It’s beyond rudeness or ignorance. This is some sort of weird display of power or something, and I really don’t want to be a part of it.
“Why are you doing this, exactly?” I ask him.
“Huh?”
“Are you expecting the whole restaurant to sit and watch you drink your can of Pepsi, like it’s a big deal or something? Are you hoping that everyone else will want one too? What exactly is your purpose here?”
“I want the restaurant to switch to Pepsi products. That’s what I want.”
And so he feels he has the right to drag me into this personal goal of his, his mission to advance his career. He’s willing to embarrass and degrade me for his own gain. I’m so angry, I can’t even speak. I turn around, walk into the kitchen, and go over to the little office where Mike is sitting again.
“This is unacceptable,” I say, so low I can barely hear myself. Mike doesn’t look up. He hasn’t heard me. I clear my throat. “I’m giving my notice,” I say, louder, my voice quivering.
Mike looks up now, shocked. “Over a glass of ice?”
“No. Not just that.”
“If it means that much to you, I’ll have Kim take over the table.”
“No. Forget it,” I tell him, but I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know how to explain that it’s more than that, so much more. I can’t articulate that I’m beginning to realize that there’s something wrong here. It’s subtle, but it’s there. And I’m starting to understand that the problem is much bigger than I’ve thought before. I’ve been searching for something, working toward something, for years. But what is it that I’ve been trying to access? Not greed or selfishness. Not ignorance or apathy. I want to walk away from that, not toward it.
So I turn away and walk out the door. I leave the tables sitting out in the dining room, some waiting for their food, some waiting to order. I leave them all, and the thought of them sitting there wondering where I went makes me smile.
Every step I take away is a step of liberation. By the time I get home I’m practically singing with joy at the opportunity to start something new.
What that will be, I don't know. I don't know if Scott will go back to work or if I will, or how we'll meet our needs. I don't know what questions to ask or where to look to find the answers. There must be a right move, but I don’t know what that is.
I immerse myself in little house projects and wait for an answer to come to me. I wake up early with Morgen and set her up with toys and books while I clean out closets and organize bookshelves. The cupboards are jammed and dressers are overflowing. There's stuff everywhere. While I was preoccupied with school and work, our house somehow got filled with piles and piles of stuff. It came in from everywhere: gifts, mail orders, online shopping, department stores. There were always more things that we could have, that would supposedly make our lives better in one way or another. Dishes and tupperware, pots and jars, quilts and towels, board games and books, chairs, an electric can opener, a fondue set. We don’t even use this stuff. We certainly don’t need it. It’s not making us more comfortable, or happy, or fulfilled. We’re getting rid of it. We’re thinning out.
51/83 首页 上一页 49 50 51 52 53 54 下一页 尾页
|
