Every year, the Scroll publishes a series of college essays written by the graduating seniors. This is the college essay of Julia Murphy, who will be attending Boston College this fall.
“It’s easy!” I found myself telling Jillian, the newest addition to the Quarter Bistro staff. She looked back, with wide eyes that belied the terror beneath. It was her first day on the job and I was given the task of showing her the ropes, an assignment which I accepted with alacrity. As she nervously surveyed the tops of her ballet-shoed feet, a wave of empathy washed over me. I had been in her place only one short month before.
In my best blazer and pencil skirt, I timidly tapped on the glass door of the restaurant, hostess application in hand. This was uncharted territory: my first real job, ever. I’d only babysat sporadically. I felt terrified and excited. My stomach hurt. Why hadn’t I started at McDonald’s instead of a restaurant characterized by white tablecloths, smooth jazz, and a pricey menu? Then I reminded myself: Mickey D’s didn’t have hostesses and flipping burgers was not exactly the ideal job for a vegetarian. As the manager came to the door, I steeled myself, suppressing my anxiety. I felt and looked confident, a key attribute of any hostess.
The short but intense interview was a success: I would start the following Monday. My first day and every one thereafter, I came eager to learn. I soon realized that high heels were not fit for all the running around required: grabbing menus, lighting candles, seating guests, notifying servers of their tables, giving the kitchen the open menu count and smiling (so much smiling). It didn’t take me long to grow attached. I found myself driving by on my nights off, staring longingly at the packed patio.
I understood only too well what Jillian was feeling that first night. Her plastered smile was a transparent attempt at confidence. She had a right to feel daunted by the complex computer system and bustling Friday night crowd, yet I knew she’d do well.
I would make sure of it.
As the seven o’clock rush poured in that Friday night, I offered Jillian only the most essential specifics: table rotation. It was our job to seat the servers fairly so that they would all make the same amount of money. Though we were filled to capacity, Jillian and I kept both the customers and servers happy. It was a successful night that highlighted everything I loved about the Quarter: the ever-present scent of beurre blanc wafting from the kitchen, the raves of sated customers, and the colorful stories told by servers, bartenders, and busboys long after close.
Training Jillian showed me how much I had learned, from watching the head hostess unobtrusively light candles amid guests engrossed in conversation to memorizing which patio tables would be shaded from the blazing August sun during rush. Despite how comfortable I now felt, answering Jillian’s questions made me realize that I was still learning. Attending to any previously overlooked nuance could optimize the customer’s experience and I was determined to identify them all. I found myself managing upwards: alerting the manager when “VIPs” arrived, informing servers of any special celebrations, and notifying the kitchen when they were in for a slam. Collaboration and efficiency were key components in making the nights run as smoothly as the melodious jazz.
I came my first day, excited to earn some spending money and left on my last with much more. I pocketed a profound respect for people in the service industry, especially those in the restaurant business. Dealing with so many hungry customers, all with their own particular set of demands had been challenging, but gratifying. I reaped the rewards of work ethic and helped grow a local business, one genial smile at a time.
