Oh, to never be a teenager again

So we've sufficiently covered some of the down sides of being almost 34 and waiting tables, i.e. feeling as if I have to explain my current position in life. But besides just money, there's a major upside here that I have neglected to mentioned as of yet: the patience that comes with age. I've noticed it more and more as I've settled into my new job.

When I was a teenage waitress, I could be a real pill. I think with some young women -- approximately 15 to 22 years old -- a rather sizable chip resides squarely on their shoulders. Everything is happening TO them. Everything and everyone is SUCH a burden. This sour attitude was nowhere more magnified than when I was 17 and serving people food and drink in exchange for $3 or $4. If someone wanted a third or, heaven forbid, fourth refill: eye roll as I walked away and maybe a snide comment. "Another one? Really? Does it look like you're my only customer?" If someone complained about their meal: "Seriously? It's one burger in the grand scheme of your entire life. You're really willing to be this much of an ass over one burger?" I won't even talk about the people who dared to order hot tea or handmade hard-pack ice cream shakes ... oh, how many hours I wasted blackening my own mood by cursing those people for making me spend an extra few seconds preparing their beverages. "How could they!?"

When I started at this restaurant, those feelings all still seemed fresh. I wondered if I could handle that level of stress again every time I went to work. But it didn't take long to realize that attitude is everything. The only person I was hurting with my sour attitude at age 17 was me. The customer got his fourth refill, and I got a tension headache, so what good did it do to get so pissed all the time about the small stuff?

Maybe it comes with age, I don't know. But this time around, when a high-maintenance customer keeps me running, I don't take it personally. It's not about me, and letting it ruin my night isn't going to change the outcome for me or for the customer. He's going to get what he wants either way because that's what restaurants are for, to cater to people's wants.

Now, there are some people who ARE difficult to wait on, and sometimes I can't help but get frustrated. But the eye-rolling, the muttering under my breath -- I'm thinking those days have passed. (For the most part.) I see those sizable chips, though, squarely in place on other waities' shoulders, and I just want to pull them aside and say, "It's not that bad! Everything is fine! You'll be OK! The only person you're hurting right now is yourself!" But then I realize that the only person to whom most 15- to 22-year-old girls listen is herself. So, it's best to just half smile, mosey on by, and hum a little Bob Marley.