“Don’t do this job for your whole life,” my customer, an older gentleman with a shock of white hair says, smirking at me. It’s 3 PM on a Saturday. I’m working my second job at a local restaurant because, unlike what feels like 90% of UVA, I can’t afford to live my life without extra income. I worked here until 10 PM last night before crashing as soon as I got home. I barely woke up in time for my shift today, and having run around for hours in the Virginia heat, I’m drenched in sweat. I straightened my hair this morning, but have since swept it up in a messy bun because I can’t deal with it being on my neck. In this moment, the man’s comment feels like a slap in the face — of course I don’t want to do this for my whole life (and even if I did, that’s none of his business). I certainly would rather be out spending time with friends, taking a nap, or even getting my piles and piles of homework done instead of being on my feet for hours, running back and forth across the restaurant to deliver food and drinks to people like this guy, who seems to find it entertaining that I’m stressed with the amount of customers and tables I have, based on the smirk he’s giving me. But I’m here, doing my best for people who don’t seem to know or care how much I’m busting my butt for them. I smile my most charming “I’m just a sweet little waitress” smile and tell him it’s a tough job but I love the fast-paced environment before scooping his half-eaten plate of nachos off the table.
But at the same time, serving can be one of the most demeaning things I’ve ever done.
Don’t get me wrong — there are so many things I love about my serving job. I love getting to interact with customers, many of whom are visiting Charlottesville and UVA for the first time. I do love how busy it can get, and would rather be sprinting around than sitting still. More than anything, I love my coworkers, who are like my family, who make shifts fun by deciding which members of the staff correspond to which Hunger Games characters (I’m Effie Trinket, if you were wondering) or by simply being there to rant about frustrating customers. But at the same time, serving can be one of the most demeaning things I’ve ever done. Not because I’m serving other people — that doesn’t bother me — but because I have to be reliant on the whims and moods of customers to make a reasonable wage.
While the minimum wage in Virginia is $12, I make about $2.13 an hour because tip money is supposed to make up to the normal minimum wage. This means that to make any semblance of a living wage, I have to make tip money. Sometimes, this is great. There are a lot of wonderful people who respect hard work and will tip accordingly — I’ve had people tip me over 100% on busy game days. But there’s also a tendency for people to blame anything that goes wrong in the restaurant on their server and tip accordingly. On busy days, the kitchen gets backed up with the amount of orders placed, so food takes longer to get out. I’ve had many shifts where despite apologizing and explaining that I quite literally have no power to make their food come out faster, I end up getting a 5% tip, or worse, nothing at all, because apparently my inability to speed up time is neglectful customer service.
Of course I’m not perfect at my job, and of course I mess up sometimes, but I’m quick to address my mistakes and solve problems. But when I’ve done nothing but my best, it stings, feeling like a betrayal after I’ve worked so hard to help them. Especially when I feel like I’ve made a genuine connection with a table, we’re chatting and smiling as I serve them, and then they tip me nothing. Or rather, they write “Thank you! You were great” on the receipt and then tip 2%. What I don’t think a lot of people understand is that while a tip for them may be extra money they have to spend, it’s quite literally how I make ends meet.
I truly wish I didn’t have to rely on other people for my income. Aside from being limited financially by those who don’t seem to respect or care about service workers, I feel like I’m barred from truly genuine interaction by the money barrier. Can I really have an authentic conversation if my income is dependent on it? When I offer someone suggestions for what spots to visit on Grounds, or chat with a family about being far from home, there’s a nagging worry in my head that people see me as only being kind to them for the tip. I feel like my customers see me as doing it for the tip, when in reality, I just truly want to be social and friendly.
Even worse, sometimes I do find myself being extra sweet and kind and charming because I want a good tip. I know there’s nothing wrong with this — it’s quite literally my job. It’s a “both and” situation, and sometimes I don’t even know anymore which side of myself is currently working. But it makes me feel fake and like a bad person, almost like I’m conning people because I’m thinking about making money when I do it. I can be having the worst day and can turn it on and pretend to be interested when a mother decides to tell me her kid’s entire life story that’s led him to look at UVA for college because I know my tip will be better. And that feels wrong. I think the worst part is perhaps that it’s a mix: sometimes I am genuinely trying to form connections, and other times, I’m doing everything I can to get a good tip.
What customers don’t see is that service workers can’t control so many of the issues they face, and that, quite honestly, we’re probably just as frustrated with the backed-up kitchen as you are.
Ultimately, I understand how frustrating it can be as a customer when service is slow or your food comes out wrong. I’ve been there. But as a service worker, it can be immensely frustrating and difficult to keep up my energy when I feel disrespected and constantly undervalued. What customers don’t see is that service workers can’t control so many of the issues they face, and that, quite honestly, we’re probably just as frustrated with the backed-up kitchen as you are. They don’t understand how exhausting the job is or how much I rely on that small percentage of their bill for my income. So I’ll end with a request: please recognize that service workers are human too. Understand that we’re doing the best we can given the circumstances. Understand that unfortunately, we do have to work for that precious 20%, so try not to blame things out of our control on us. Please be kind and considerate. And above all, please remember that as much as we wish it wasn’t this way, we are working for your tips.
