If you treat the people who serve your table at a restaurant like human beings, it won't be long before you find out that's what they are. They have hopes, dreams, worries and, most importantly, families. You might find out they have a daughter who just went away to college and is on her own for the first time. You could learn that they have a son or daughter who just got back from Iraq and they're fearful of a deployment to Afghanistan.
They're used to being treated like pieces of furniture, and they're happy to be seen as who they are instead. They can't chat for very long, of course, they're working, but you can have a conversation in snatches (30 seconds or less) especially if you're a regular.
Watch their faces when someone at the next table is complaining -- usually loudly. They go stone-faced. They're wishing they were somewhere else, but it's their job to stand there and take it and be polite. And usually it's not their fault, they're just the one that's there. Maybe it's the cook who did something that the customer isn't completely satisfied with, but it's the server who's available to be yelled at. I told one of them, recently, "I'm not a complainer, you've got plenty of those." There were no words, but her face made it clear that she had more than enough of those.
Speaking of misdirected anger, I remember a plane ride I took years ago. While we were sitting at the gate, the pilot came on the intercom and announced that one of the flight attendants was sick and another one was on her way. Fifteen minutes later, he announced that she was stuck in traffic and would get here as soon as she could. Fifteen minutes after that he repeated that she was stuck in traffic. Fifteen minutes after that she came dashing through the door and everybody was mad at HER.
Think about it. This poor woman got called on her day off and asked if she could help out. She gave up whatever plans she had for that day, dashed out the door, ran into some terrible traffic and made it to work as fast as she could. It wasn't her fault. If anyone was to blame, it was the attendant who called in sick, but that person wasn't available. So they picked on the one who was there without even thinking about the fact that she had been even more inconvenienced than we had.
One of the most interesting people I ever met was the woman who cleaned the fifth floor of the building I worked in. Her name was Ailish, but one of her co-workers always called her "Irish" because she had come from Ireland originally. We both worked late at night and, although my main job was on the third floor, I had to go to the fifth a couple times a night to back up the computers and take care of some other things.
We would chat briefly, never more than five minutes at a time, and then go about our jobs. She told me about some young people who were part of a singing group from Northern Ireland and who stayed at her house while they were visiting America. Even though they were all singing in the same group, they were subject to the same political divisions as the rest of their country.
She also told me some interesting things she -- or her co-workers -- had discovered while cleaning various offices. "You wouldn't believe the smell of liquor when I opened the cabinet in so-and-so's office." And another time, "You'll never guess who we walked in on in the women's restroom doing things that belong in motel rooms."
When my daughter was born, Ailish made her a Raggedy-Ann doll.
