I Am Waiter

One of the things I’m giving up in exactly seventeen days is my job waiting tables. This is the single best thing I could ever do for myself!

I’m doing a lot of things for myself this Spring; going on a long and, hopefully, cathartic hike, taking a meditation retreat in Hawaii, visiting friends and family across the country, moving to Seattle, etc. However, I am pretty sure that the most healthy and gracious gift I will give myself is the freedom from working in hospitality, however brief the reprieve.

I could rant here about 10% tips, water sans ice, rude and entitled guests, stupid questions, basic stereotypes etc, but I don’t want to go on a rant at all. I just want to say that I miss some of the parts of me that I remember from before I ever walked up to a table full of strangers, and said:

“Hello. How are you this evening? My name is Steve and I will be taking care of you tonight. If you have any questions about the menu please just let me know, but in the meantime, what would you like to drink?” Continue reading

Phase II: Homeless No Longer

Welcome back my literate friends. Since I first posted last week I have succeeded in giving away a good deal of my possessions. I donated most of them to charity (how awesome am I?) because I loathe physical labor and refused to drag anything down the stairs of my old apartment (how lazy am I?). Here’s what I liberated myself from:

Queen sized mattress
1/4 of my clothes
Bedroom set (nightstand, coffee table, entertainment center)
Two really soft sets of sheets
My glorious espresso machine and the glorious bean grinder beside it
Silverware, coffee cups, bowls, pots, pans, an expensive knife set
My laser jet printer
My 32” flat screen television
My Lego Millennium Falcon
Other nicks and knacks
Continue reading

Phase II: Homeless in Tampa

Hello again friends. It’s been about a week since my last post, and a busy week at that. However, for now I can only share what I did last night and this morning.

After waking up early Sunday morning to stuff my stuff randomly into six boxes, two backpacks, and one duffel I left my scant possessions hidden in the garage of my former apartment and walked the five miles to Ybor without any socks on. To ease the pain of all the new blisters I acquired, I bought a sweet pair of socks and proceeded to drink beer for the rest of the day. That night I got a ride back to my friend’s house and slept for about six hours to wake up, hungover, hungry, and without my black work shoes. I had to be at work this morning at 11, so it was imperative that I locate either my old shoes or a new pair. Have I mentioned that I do not own a car? My plan was to bus it back to my old apartment and search the duffel for signs of the shoes. Also for my damn phone charger. I did not efficiently pack.

I got on the 9 bus around 9am and quickly made friends with a partially toothless, jovial black man. He laughed and told me that I looked like I’d had a terribly fun night but was now in rough shape. He kept talking, and laughing, while I kept murmuring responses and staring out the window at the ghetto we were riding through. Finally he starts talking to another man behind me, and I thought I was done interacting with him, until he looks back over at me and says: Continue reading

Phase I: The Plan

Hello there World! My name is Steve and today I am a 33 year old Florida resident; a straight, white, male, college graduate, and professional waiter at the coolest (and best) Sushi Bar in the greater Tampa Bay area. This Saturday I’m submitting my four week notice after exactly two years of service (I’m a very loyal employee). After April 12 I’ll still be all that other straight, white, male shit, minus the professional waiter bit.

I have to move out of my apartment and onto a couch by this Saturday. Giving my notice ought to soften the blow of moving from a bed and a bedroom to a couch and a living room, but even if it doesn’t, the couch will last for exactly four weeks. I’m selling my extensive collection of carpentry tools, my mattress, my IKEA furniture, my 500 thread count sheets, my black on black waiter’s uniform collection, my jumper cables, my identity as a possessioned, professioned, American Floridian; even my espresso machine and my television!

Yes! Even my fucking television! Continue reading