The Fat Waitresss

"I can tell first thing when I come into a place if the service is going to be awful," sneered the emaciated gentlemen to his three companions, "see that bulge of fat around her belly!"

See the hint of stretch marks, dear sir, as in recently recovering from pregnancy. How would you like to be working on your feet all day, one month after giving birth?

This actually happened at one of my favorite neighborhood diners recently, where the waitresses are busy, hardworking, and almost always pleasant.

"See," said a second gent, head to toe in fair trade Central American clothing, "What happens when you pay them minimum wage - they stop hustling for tips and it's all downhill from there. Portland's even worse."

Dear second gentleman, have you ever spent a day in your life hustling for change? Because that's pretty common on the breakfast shift. I worked the breakfast shift many a year before I had my first professional job. How 'bout you - what's the hardest day's work you've ever done?

I know, spare me the bad old days, but please, where did we get the idea that we have a servant class and that some of us deserve to be "served" in any particular manner?

I used to love waiting tables, for the years that my legs could do it. I felt, mostly, like people were guests in my home. That wasn't just a work ethic. That's a life ethic. I'll try to treat strangers as well as I would family, because that's how I was raised.

Until they start to look at me like a footstool.

No, we're are not the plushy furniture you rest your weary feeties on. We are human beings, and as such, deserve to be treated with dignity and respect. We do not yet live in a feudal or caste society - last time I checked. And even if we did, I would beware the consequences of treating the peasants with disdain.

Mostly, in this life, you get back what you have given.

Go ahead, offer up that waitress, nurse, caregiver the bile of your stingy heart.

Just remember who stirring your soup...