"Is This Your Real Job?"

I am asked this question all the time.

Now that I am a 34-year-old server and mother of two, strangers I wait on are thrown for a loop. Some of their questions include "Is this your real job? Do you work anywhere else? What do you do as a full time job? Are you in school?" That last one I always appreciate, yet secretly know that they don't really believe I'm in school. I mean, I've held up pretty well, but come on now. They just can't figure out my deal and don't know how to come out and say AREN'T YOU KIND OF OLD TO BE WORKING HERE?!

I, of course, try to be gracious, smile, and get them some extra rolls and dipping oil. That will shut them up for a while, trust me. I give them an abridged version of how I stay home with my kids, how lucky I am, how I used to manage and gave it up and blah blah fucking blah.

What I really want to say is, I had to give up my job because, well, someone had to, and at the time my husband was closer to a promotion than me, because of seniority. I want to tell them that sure, I'm really lucky to stay home with the girls. I love it, but I also hate it some days. I feel like it is my job, which it is in a way, but that means I never get to leave my job. Ever. Oh! except when I go to my second, paying job. To serve strangers. Go me.

This transition from independent working woman to stay-at-home-mom (SAHM as they like to call it in the "community") has been rougher than I ever expected or could ever explain. It's not like it was way back when, when every woman who popped out a child stayed with them, whether that meant they were still a housewife or they actually left a job they had. Either way, it was the norm. This feels outside of the norm for me, for my life. I sometimes think I will lose it when I have to clean the same toys in the same rooms for the umpteenth time today, for the umpteenth time in my life. In a word: MADDENING.

But this isn't about my mommy troubles. I mean, of course it is, but it's not.

There's my table, peering up at me with crumbs on their lips and seemingly innocent questions on their brains.  I politely tell them I love my girls, they are everything to me. And though I don't cook a good dinner, or a dinner at all some days, I have a lovely husband who will come pouring in the door, jump on those girls and I, and kiss us like he means it. I tell them I'm older than they think, and usually they are at least a couple years off guessing my age, in my favor, which is usually the best thing I've heard all day. I don't resent my position. I don't judge those who go to work day after day, or those who stay home, keep it cool, and don't bat a lash. I'm not them, I'm ok with that, but that is not something that comes easy. I'm still not all the way there, I'm sure.

Today, what I am, folks, is your server. I love the job a lot, I am finally really good at it, I'm earning money for my family, and it is a cake-walk compared to my job at home. I come here to get away, to feel like I'm doing something, even if you and everyone else looks at it like something a monkey could do. (Look, I've worked with some monkeys in my time and not everyone can do this job). I'm not gonna go into the pros and cons, ins and outs, or the good and bad of being a server. What I will say is that I do what I do because I have to, because I like to, and because this is what my path has led to at this point.

As much as I don't need to explain myself to anyone, I do it weekly, and with a smile.

I anticipate the question will be coming again soon from a clueless couple who have no idea what territory they are actually entering into. I should become that weird waitress that really over shares, then they would regret ever asking me at all.  I could ignite a change! Maybe they won't ask any woman ever again and then all will be right with the world!

Probably not.

I can't wait for the day I add "blogger" to my list of current jobs. "Mother? Server? Blogger? But what does she actually do??" The confusion on their faces, the gears turning in their brains, them frantically trying to think of something to say about that. Tripping over their words, trying to make me feel supported and understood, it could add a good 10 minutes more to their dining experience.

Or maybe I'll get off easy and they'll just choke on their damn dinner rolls.



~Leah