LAST CALL |
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I
work in a fairly upscale restaurant owned by a celebrity chef who for once in his life, shall remain nameless because, you see, this story is not about him. You see, I was waiting tables and I overheard this woman tell her friend how much she loved Samuel L. Jackson (in Othello) and I couldn't help myself, I said: Ma'am because my Daddy taught me as a child to be polite, I said: Ma'am because working for tips teaches you to be polite, I said: Ma'am, I believe that was Laurence Fishburne but this was not some random guess I must have seen his performance over a dozen times but this woman looked at me and said, What does a waiter know about Shakespeare? Like the fact that I'm wearing an apron today means I've never worn Hamlet's sword, or Harry's crown. Like the smiles I've been giving you for the last half hour haven't been a performance? Like you thinking your pathetic little ten percent can ruin my day means I don't drive a better car than you, wear better clothes than you, live a better life than you? What do I know about Shakespeare? I know how to play the weakest of kings and the wisest of fools. I know the words that will make armies charge into battle, and Juliet melt into my arms. I know a thousand inconsequential details about poems and plays that would make your head swim. But don't think that this makes me some extreme exception: I'm not one in a million; I'm just one of a million others just like me. See, I work alongside the free spirits and free thinkers, the people who give your life spark and soul. I work alongside geniuses who will never star in their Good Will Hunting, and some who will. I work alongside my elders who have traveled and seen the world you only read about in books, glimpse from your hotel window. I work alongside our bright-eyed future- young men and women who will change that world into something you and I can't possibly conceive. I work alongside teachers, because schools won't pay half what they can make here. I work alongside entrepreneurs launching their first start-up on a grant from the Ignorant Bitch Foundation. So, Ma'am, when you're out in the world and you see me wearing my better clothes, living my better life, and I'm looking just a little familiar, but you can't quite place me without my apron, and you want to come up to me and say, "Excuse me, don't I know you?" Trust me, you don't. |
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