So bar night had eventually finished and i would now be a clued up bar girl for the next evening. I prepared myself mentally and in a weird way looked forward to it; i knew i would be way more competent that evening that would follow.
Now being a self-confessed, baby brat, i have never done waitressing before. I did not know about shouting at the head chef ‘service in’ when giving an order, or that you had to serve veggies from the left hand side. Our college had a prestigious restaurant and a name to live up to. That evening i heard that i would not work in the bar anymore but would now labour in the restaurant...
My heart pounded with agony. When i messed up in the bar, at least not one of the guests could put a face to the screw up, because it was behind closed doors. Now everyone would see me in my bewilderment. Ok mind over matter ‘that which do not kill you makes you stronger. Plus i can do anything through God who strengthens me.’ I would play those sentences over and over in my head.
So it started. I put on my black and white outfit. Ready to work. The Maître d' (master/host of the restaurant), called me aside. There would be a problem once again, before I even started. My hair was too messy and i had to neaten it up. URGGGHHH. I wanted to scream. ‘Who cares’, i thought. I played my sentences over in my head again, and went back to fix it.