Confidence is Powerful: Part 2

I was working a Coco’s restaurant chain (only slightly more upscale than Denny’s-they have pie!). I donned the pink polo shirt and forest green shorts during evening and weekends to sling hash and pie for profit. It was good money and allowed me to have the independence of my own place (with a roommate) and still be able to pay for community college, books & bills. Finding my groove one busy Sunday brunch, I noticed that I was starting to get some regular customers. I had the overflow section which gave me a lot of tables when we were busy. Sunday Brunch was always busy. I called it my “Money Day”.

I loved waiting tables at breakfast. The most important meal of the day, right? and I was good at it. After church got out, families would come in all dressed up, smiling and looking for the good feeling that only comes from breaking bread together, to complete their day. Other people staggered in, bleary-eyed, with their dehydrated smiles and shaky hands, left over from a night of drinking and antics. Either way, I always felt like there was one word that would make people happy when they finally arrived in my station: “Coffee?” I would ask with a genuine smile and a pot full of freshly brewed bean juice, in hand. “Oh, yes, thank you so much” was usually the reply. That made the rest of the process easier for both of us, and I honestly believe coffee was the secret to my success, more than my smile. More satisfying to me than getting a super big tip (which you don’t get at breakfast, in those days there was often a lot of small change on the table for a so called “tip”) was the grateful and satisfied expressions of my customers. I was “in my happy place, doing what I love, so I know I didn’t force a smile”. (Cindy Allard)

 

 

I remember one Sunday Brunch in particular. It stuck in my mind because I was in a fantastic mood that day, practically untouchable in my joy. My section was full and I was on my third turn over of tables. I felt good, my apron had a lot of small change and was getting heavy. I enjoyed the gentle clang-clang as I walked briskly across the dining room floor. I was feeling confident in my stride, I had an easy rhythm to refilling coffees, clearing plates, chatting & taking orders.

I made my way around the semi-circle of tables to several groups of regular customers. I loved to take care of their needs during brunch and make it an enjoyable moment. I knew how to make my time the most efficient to make the most money I could out of my shift. This, was my jam. It gave me “a feeling of strength, accomplishment, & peace.” (Nancy Seidel)

 

One gentleman, that I had waited on several times, made a remark to me as I refilled his coffee. He always sat alone and he always ordered a tomato juice and a Budweiser with his eggs and bacon. His comment surprised me and stuck in my mind because it was pretty bold. Very matter of fact, He said, “You know, If you dolled up your face a little you’d look really pretty.” Without missing a beat or loosing my smile, I hit him back with “Oh, but some people think I look great the way I am!” I winked and bounced off to fill more coffee cups. I didn’t think much about it at the time. I wasn’t hurt by it and I kind of just remember thinking he was a looser for making such an obviously chauvinistic comment to a young woman like me. Maybe it took him 3 or 4 visits to notice I was kind of attractive, but my boyfriend had surely noticed already, thank you very much.

It wasn’t until much later that I had to ask myself “WHY?!”
What happened between my 9-year-old self and college? Why was I suddenly able to say “no thank you” to the gift that was being offered. Why did I suddenly find the ability to let someone else’s opinion roll off my back without a second thought. How was it that I suddenly, knew his words were mistaken?

The answer is simple: Confidence. Experience and understanding of where I was in the world, of the part that I played. I knew I was unique, loyal, kind and worth it. I felt “strong and focused” (-Monique Bedard). I was confident in my job and my relationship, but it was more than that. I had a taste of independence and freedom. I knew what I was working for. I understood the risks and I could practically taste the rewards of my efforts. I was a waitress; the harder and more efficiently I worked, the greater the financial reward. I could count it in pennies, nickels, and dimes. I could feel it in the weight of my sagging apron, full of change, after the lunch rush died down. I could see it in my coffee can full of ones, fives and a few twenty’s at the end of the month. And it felt good. I had learned what my 9-year-old self didn’t yet understand. For me, working hard and being good at my job gave me confidence, self-worth, and joy.