Aye, to be a waitress is to become a slave to society. Particularly in Singapore.
I recall reading a news report a couple of weeks ago, outlining the way foreign domestic workers (a.k.a family maids) are being treating in Singapore as compared to other countries. To cut a long story short, family maids in Singapore are treated shabbily or merely looked down upon. Articles on such foreign maids being abused by their employers also appear on the newspapers on a weekly basis, or even twice weekly.
In other countries, the maids are treated as part of the family. They are allowed to dine with their employers at the table, and are only required to do minor domestic tasks as their employers are more independent and self-reliant. Whereas in Singapore, maids are almost treated as slaves, having to juggle several tedious tasks such as doing the housework and looking after the children or old folks.
Worse still, some employers even go as far as to provide their maids with horrendous living conditions, or banish the maid from dining with the family. On a few occasions, the maid is also treated as outcasts by racist employers who refuse to share their food or cutlery.
I have to admit that I am also guilty of being over-reliant on my family maid as well, and yours truly is going to be more independent from now on.
Back to the topic on waitressing, waitresses in Singapore are treated no better than the foreign maids mentioned above. Yes, being a waitress means that you are providing a service to the people in the cafe. However, is there a need for the customer to speak to you as though they are demanding for you to do something for them? The fact that they are paying a service charge doesn’t justify them eliminating the words “Please” and “Thank you” from their list of vocabulary when they are speaking to waitresses.
Just compare the following. “Excuse me, would you get me another spoon please?” in a gentle voice and “Oi! Get me a spoon!” in a condescending tone. Which one would make you feel more human?
There are quite a few polite customers, I must add, as not everyone out there reflects the stereotype that Singaporeans are a rude, ignorant and kiasu bunch. On several occasions, I have encountered customers who smile at me when making their requests, and punctuate their questions with the word “Please”. However, there are still quite a few who snap at me for no apparent reason.
And some people ought to learn that some things are not always the waitress’ fault. For example, pineapple and strawberry toppings (for ice cream) are currently out-of-stock at all Swensens outlets in Singapore. However, the way this particular customer was speaking to me this evening was accusatory, as if it was my fault that all the pineapple and strawberry toppings have mysteriously disappeared throughout the island.
Yeah right. I sneaked into the factory and gobbled up all those toppings while nobody was looking. *Rolls eyes*
When things are beyond our control, no amount of demanding or complaining is going to help. After all, what can we do when such a problem is existing on a country-wide basis?
I am sick of working. Not because I hate the working life, neither is the job too tough for me to handle. I can handle physically draining jobs like this one, no problem. What’s bothering me is the number of mistakes I’ve been making throughout the entire duration of my job so far. It makes me wonder why the hell am I still insisting on continuing working?
Mistakes such as poor handling of bills, mixing up the orders and such are especially common when I am concerned, because I am a natural-born scatterbrain. With every such mistake I make, I am incurring losses for the company. The supervisors and managers wouldn’t scold me. Instead, I am let off with a warning (or several warnings, for that matter). But I still feel guilty, and voices at the back of my head would nag at me for the rest of the day when then the mistake was made.
Today was the last straw. My butter fingers had caused my tray to slip, and six cupfuls of iced water came cascading all over my shirt, pants, and the customer. The customer was thankfully, a forgiving one, but I just felt like shooting myself when it happened.
I am forgetful, absent-minded, clumsy, and born with two left feet. So what I am doing here as a waitress? I should have been fired long time ago, and several times, I’ve thought of quitting because of the number of mistakes I have been making. Although everyone else doesn’t seem to be bothered much about my boo-boos, I am getting extremely stressed out over it.
Until now, I have never managed to tide through an entire week without any mistakes or accidents. Terribly disappointing and hopeless, I must say. Getting a job is supposed to boost one’s morale, and to gain experience. In my case, it is demoralising, and it seems to be honing my skills at screwing up.
On another note, I am having some problems where my work schedule is concerned. Nobody informed me before my transfer that I was expected to work on both days during weekends. Absolutely nobody. However, I just cannot work on weekends at all, and the most I can go it only one day during the weekend because I am expected to spend time with my grandmother. My manager wasn’t happy at all when I informed him about this, and as usual, I began to feel guilty all over again when it was not even my fault in the first place.
My mom was especially annoyed when she heard about this. “It’s only a part time job!” she exclaimed angrily. “How can they expect you to work on both days during weekends and expect you to keep quiet about it? The maximum you can work is only 5 days a week, and only 1 day on the weekends!”
When would these people realise that I have other things to do with my life, and not just expect me to work and work all the time? I’m abolutely pissed and I really don’t know what I should do. My family should definitely take priority over a part-time job, doesn’t it?
I. Want. To. Quit.
Oh no, not again.As a sequel to this entry, it seems like I have to get used to having young children calling me ‘auntie’, at least for the remaining period of time which I would be working. I just don’t understand. After working for 2 months at my previous location, I had never had any young children calling me ‘auntie’. Instead, they would call me 姐姐 while their parents would refer to me as “Miss”.
However, after working for only two days at my current outlet, I’ve already had four children calling me ‘auntie’.
I was taking the order for a particular table near the entrance and one young boy at the next table was trying to get my attention. Apparently due to my semi-blur state, I hadn’t noticed him and began to stroll away from that area after I was done taking the order. The little boy then began to yell at me at the top of his lungs.
“AUNTIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
I swear, almost every head in that vicinity turned around to stare at me at that moment, and it was extremely embarassing. As I attended to that little boy’s needs, it took every ounce of my energy not to send that kid flying with one kick of my foot, and the urge to retort at him that I am “姐姐 and NOT auntie” was overwhelming. However, I decided to shut up in the end.
Here’s an appeal to all parents. When you bring your children to a restaurant, please please please train them how to differentiate between a honest to goodness auntie and an eighteen year old girl. Why? Because calling a teenaged girl “auntie” is the biggest insult one can ever give to her.
In the evening, the restaurant became even more crowded, and all of us were bustling around at top speed attending to the customers’ whims and demands. Apparently, the rather slow service due to the crowdedness was making the customers impatient, which in turn made the co-workers around me impatient, which in turn made me even more impatient. And when I get impatient. I become flustered, and when I become flustered, I become more scatter-brained, and then is when I start making mistakes in my work.
I have this feeling that the assistant manager was trying her best not to scream at me.
I must say that I am not exactly happy working at Swensens (Changi Airport Terminal 1 branch), and there are times when I feel like transferring back to my previous location. It’s not that I don’t like the working environment, but rather the people around me. Somehow, the other workers there are not as approachable as my ex-colleagues, and they tend to ignore me most of the time even when I try to make conversation.
I can’t blame them, though. Most of them have been working together for so long until they’ve formed their little cliques. So it may not be easy for them to accept a new worker as part of them. All I can say is that I can’t wait to get out of there, i.e, stop working.