Alanna Morton

Literacy Narrative

Learning how to become a Better Me

Who knew that the mouth watering olfaction of a freshly flipped stack of fluffy

buttermilk pancakes toppled with smooth and sticky old fashioned maple syrup would become

what Id identify a job with? Before I started my first waitressing job at the International House

of Pancakes (IHOP) at the age of 16, I imagined it to live up to the stereotypical corporate prison

that people make out every job they have had to be. I pictured it to be full of tired, but

presentable, slaves to the clientele of the restaurant industry, or what is commonly known as

waitresses and waiters. I expected any kind of work place to live up to every expectation that it is

held to, except my own, because I never really created my own.

As people, we try to live up to our own standards, to be independent, and to show our

strength. But, the sad reality is that whether we want to or not we all tend to naturally succumb to

pressure. We do things in response to what we think is socially acceptable by wearing what is

in and cool, changing our own beliefs and views to match those that are more accepted, and

we make life altering decisions based on what we think is right according to the majority opinion

set by people. In other words, we grow into someone that allows them to be stepped all over.

Working has taught me more than how to take a tables order and adapt to all of the

modifications they may make, or how to carry up to seven plates to a table, or even how to smile

at a table of arrogant customers trying to get away with a free meal. Working has taught me how

to compose a strong and independent personality that I now uphold confidentially. I am put into

situations with co-workers of all ages, customers of all different types of crazy, and labor-

intensive work (which does not include me getting any kind of free meal every whatsoever).

These circumstances have had me dread waking up early for a seven a.m. shift, want to scream

my busybody boss, Fernandos, head off, and grossed out at the species of arrogant customers

that slink their way through the door. In the end all of these conditions have made me become

someone that speaks up and makes sure I am heard, someone that will keep trying until I get

whatever I am trying to do right, and the kind of person that will work until I physically cannot

any longer; so I have become a stronger person than I ever was. Communicating with people of

various personalities has helped me do many things, including how to stick up for myself when

necessary and how to compose myself when required.

One Saturday afternoon, in October, the air had a nice refreshing bite to it and the sun

was forcing its every ray out to compromise with the wind blowing the trees leaves. The fall

leaves appeared to be painted in brightly colored lush yellows, vibrant oranges, hunter greens

and daring reds. All of which were hanging on by their last strings like the last baby tooth

dangling on to the final strand of a 10 year olds gums.

I ran from up the street across the busy car honking-filled air of the Boston Post Road, in

Orange, Connecticut, from the vacant Sleepys parking lot because on a Saturday there are never

any parking spots available at The IHOP. I released a sigh of relief when I reached the parking

lot and glanced at my watch and it read five minutes before my two oclock shift. I leaped over

several mucky brown puddles until of course, I was bound to miss and fall into one and send a

splash of the murky water up my pant leg. Yay! I had a whole eight-hour shift with brown dirty

water drying on my legs until I would get to go home and scrub it off. Not to forget the other

scents of various breakfast foods and our senior special Tilapia, that are also stubborn scents to

fritter from off of my body.

I finally made it to the door and was able to look past the many petite-like handprints of

children on the windowsill to catch a quick glance at my reflection. I saw my hair tightly pulled

back to my head, with maybe a few fly away hair strands from my pony tail, my black work

pants and slip resistant shoes, and the infamous blue and white striped collared shirt underneath

the deep ocean blue IHOP apron tied tightly around my waist. I looked poised and professional

and knew that today- which was probably my 3rd week on the job at The IHOP, not as a hostess,

but as a waitress- would be another successful one. I wasnt going to let a rushed entry into the

parking lot, or its puddles, put a damper on my day.

I stepped through the doors and pushed my way through the crowds of impatient whining

customers to clock in for my two oclock shift. Then, the chaos began, the kind of chaos that I

have come to love so much. First there is the families; the screaming and squealing babies, the

hyper children bouncing around in the maroon booths, the parents with their sweat beaded

foreheads trying to hush their chaotic kids, the too cool teenager slumped in the chair with the

hood up, and the couples feeding each other pieces of bacon and omelets loaded with various

cheeses by the forkfuls.

I finally got assigned a section and began to rush around to my five tables making sure

that they were cleaned, secure with sugars, and all four succulent flavored syrups including

butter pecan, boysenberry, blueberry, and strawberry. I had already put in two orders at this point

and proceeded to my third table, which was a family of four. There was a daughter, a son, and

then their parents. They looked like a nice and quaint happy family. That was until I walked over

and introduced myself and asked if I could start them off with drinks. The fathers beady brown

eyes stared at me with a satisfying smirk slapped right where a persons warm and welcoming

smile should have been. When speaking towards me he advanced to use very vulgar and

insulting language. And no, not in light and funny kind of way because when he referred to me,

when speaking to his son, it was as this bitch.

I was shocked and something began to bubble up inside of me. You could probably see it

on my face as a mixture of rage, fury, and disgust. I very politely proceeded to let this man know

that this is a family restaurant with people of all ages around and various other families that had

requested to get up and move and he is not allowed to speak to me like I am some kind of scum.

I held myself high and dignified, without being rude, and told him that if he could not stop

speaking to me in such an offensive manner that I would get my manager. And I did.

I figured this was just another tip lost out of my days pay and when I didnt see any

money on the table I figured I was correct. But, they paid on the card and on the receipt I saw

they had tipped me twenty dollars and the man had left me a note. It read, I am sorry, and

fucking thanks a lot. Youre not a bad waitress I laughed at that. I also found that the table next

to them that had asked if they could move had also left me a good tip and a note that read, you

handled that well.

At that moment I realized I am definitely going to be dealing with a lot of similar

personalities to the one of this man. And if I am to hold my ground, make sure I am treated and

respected right, then maybe sometimes I will have the favor returned. It is like my dad always

says, the chances that you will always be treated nicely are slim, but if you always treat people

nicely then you are bound to be treated the same way back at some point.

Working at IHOP, or anywhere really, you are going to encounter the some of the

worst kinds of people and some of the best. So, I take every situation Ive ever dealt with and

dont let it convince me to treat others the way that they may be treating me, but instead to treat

every person the way I know I every person should be treated. I may have said earlier whether

we want to or not we all tend to naturally succumb to pressure. But, we can fight the urge to

being stressed and taking it out on our parents, friends, or strangers badly just because they may

have treated you a certain way. Communicating and interacting with people is just another way

to learn how to deal with and apply to difficult life situations.

Working has taught me tolerance and composure that I couldnt be more thankful

for. I work to communicate. I communicate to learn. I learn to better understand. I understand to

communicate better. I communicate better to learn how to test myself in an even deeper way.

And hey, sometimes we take chances to interact with people and sell it short because we dont

like the way some girl twirls her hair, or the way that guy wont shut up for more than 10

seconds, or just the way the old couple is sitting there boring their eyes into the back of your

head taunting you. They are all saying something to us in our heads: I am prettier, I am

smoother, or that we know better than you do. But, really maybe they are saying nothing at all

and that isnt the point. You cant judge a book by its cover and you cant treat people a certain

way based off of assumptions. So, what I like to do is set my shoulders back, ease my way into a

lazy smile, and shrug it off by saying yeah, good and whatever you say. Because we all

know the best way to cope with anything, is to just deal with it.