The Golden Vest

The Golden Vest

      To say Ken’s Wine House busboy job was a revolving door is an understatement. But after two months on the job I had seniority and was designated head busboy and was awarded the golden vest. The owners threatened to strip me of this honorable accouterment if I did not cut my long hair.  I knew these threats were thinly veiled because of all the morons they employed for the busboy position I, at least, wasn’t smoking pot with the dishwashers. It felt good to be clad in gold as I assigned my red vested underlings to the worst stations in the restaurant. The wait staff seemed to like me and the nicer they were to me the harder I worked for them. One waitress named Marla who worked a small room by herself was the exception. This badger faced, small framed woman was mean, always snapping orders at me to bus her tables, empty her bus pans or bring water to her newly seated guests. She showed no respect for the golden vest. I had been told by the other waiters that she hated bus boys and shorted the busboys when she tipped us out at night. I despised he,r and swore if she got in my way when I was hauling full bus pans I’d run her down. Then one day I had a great idea. I told the busboy assigned to her station to take particular good care of her. I watered and greeted her guests with over the top charm and professionalism. I ran to clear and reset her tables before she knew her guests were gone. My intent was either to watch the old witch shrivel up and die of shock or put her in the inconceivable position to actually have to thank me for a job well done. She thanked me. She also stuffed an extra five dollar bill in the pocket of the golden vest. I continued to step up the service to her area. I also noticed, for the first time, that her station was always busy. Many guests requested her room because she was a terrific server. She didn’t look like a badger at all when she attended to her tables. The guests liked her; it was the wait staff that didn’t. Her room was the best station in the restaurant and the rest of the wait staff were jealous of the money she made. Now on speaking terms with Marla I found her to be witty and have an uncanny knack for reading how a guest wished to be treated. She corrected me and instructed me on service style and spent time to train me. She was far and away the most professional waiter in the restaurant and helped me become a good service person and not just a punk kid in a gold vest. The life lesson I learned from this job was to step back and observe people before making a character decision; especially one based on unsubstantiated rumor. I also learned that there are many people running around clad in golden vests, but only a few actually deserve to wear one.