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Stephanie is a waitress this summer, at the same restaurant she has worked at in Illinois and even Minnesota, where she is in college. It’s a chain, if you haven’t figured that out …
Kyle also waited tables, as did my husband (in college) and I, in high school and college. In fact, I worked at … are you ready? … Farrell’s fantastic fabulous fountain of fun! Just for jollies, I Googled it tonight, and was surprised to find it is making a comeback. I guess some old things still have value!
When I worked at the Farrell’s in Indianapolis, we made giant sundaes for the Indianapolis 500 mile race festivities (this is an actual picture from that event, circa 1975 or thereabouts–see the giant sundae with Bob Farrell standing next to it, riding along?), and a bunch of employees were hauled from Indy to Louisville to perform a similar feat for the Kentucky Derby. We all stayed free at the Marriott in Louisville over Derby weekend. I once served Bob Farrell, founder of the restaurant, and have pictures of him horsing around (no pun intended) in the pool at the Marriott with all the high school and college kids who were on that weekend junket.
So what does all this have to do with attachment and adoption? Stephanie gives me a blow-by-blow account of her day at the restaurant. Every so often, she tells me about a table that required a ton of extra work, who rang up a significant bill, and who consumed the majority of her section for her entire shift … and who left her no tip or a very poor tip. Often she will tell me these same customers will tell her manager what great service she provided, but they still don’t tip. They are not customers that necessarily complain … they just don’t tip. And it really, really frustrates her. If you have ever waited tables, you know that a server’s base pay is essentially nothing… they make their money in tips.
And guess what? Every single time she tells me one of these stories, guess where my brain goes? I think to myself … “Yeh, that’s a whole lot like serving a child for 17 years and getting no tip except a scowl … It just doesn’t seem fair, does it?” I have said that to her, and she “gets it”. I don’t know if my mind moving in that direction is a reflection of the work I still need to do, or if it just reminds me of the something for nothing principle when she tells me she worked her butt off for a table and they did nothing to show their appreciation. We’re all human, and we all like to feel appreciated.
This is Father’s Day weekend. Wanna place any bets on whether or not Amy calls my husband? If she does, will it be because she is thinking of him, or wants to compare/contrast Father’s Day weekend with Mother’s Day weekend (when she didn’t call me at all?) My husband would tell you she doesn’t think or plan that much … if she calls it will be because she decided at that moment to call, with no hidden agenda. We’ll see.
So, what kind of tips are YOU getting?
Farrell’s (in Escondido, CA) was my absolute favorite ice cream place growing up! Most birthdays were spent there, and many other occasions, with any number of people. I always ordered from the Belly Buster menu, and had a collection of ribbons from eating many a Pig Trough.
Back then, I could eat anything and everything, and never gain an ounce. Now, just walking past the ice cream section of the grocery causes the addition of at least 5 lbs on my hips and thighs.
::::blinking innocently:::: Nancy, we are old things, and we still have value!
I try to connect my “tips” with my memories of when she was young and I still had hope. I felt that I was accomplishing something important each day that I combed her hair, picked out a new outfit for her to wear, tested her on her spelling words, etc. I was lost in the fog of “maybe tomorrow” she will understand, apppreciate, contribute. When I reflect on those memories, I consider myself tipped. I know that there will continue to be disappointments in the future. I’ve already spent my tips and don’t plan to collect any more.
I didn’t get any calls, but then neither did my wife on Mother’s day. One son has left home to join the birthfather since then, but he is not much of a phone caller.
Brad