The Restaurant Experience

This isn’t about social diseases, nor is it any commentary on capitalistic practices or anything of this sort, though you are of course welcome to read into that if you’d like. This is just a reflection of someone who has done more people-watching than people-talking-to.

Even prior to the pandemic, I disliked going pretty much anywhere. After working in retail myself, I couldn’t help but feel awful any time I walked in wherever and saw that mask of politeness on some employee who would rather be anywhere else at that moment. I never liked taking people’s space, time, or energy, especially not unhappy people’s. And I don’t know about you, but I have yet to see an actually happy retail worker.

Hence, it took some convincing to get me to go eat at this restaurant. I hadn’t been there before, or even heard of it, but I relented regardless. And upon arrival, the first thing I noticed was how quiet it was. There was music playing at a decent volume and some typical white noise from some machine somewhere, but very few people were speaking, which I found utterly unusual. All the employees spoke very briefly with charming, accented English, and all the costumers replied in a word or two and were otherwise silent. Weird. At first, things seemed orderly and calm to the point of being eerie, or that’s what my forever-apprehensive mind decided, anyway. But when I sat down and had time to take in everything and everyone around me, I noticed there wasn’t any energy at all. And by that, I mean I could only describe the atmosphere as the opposite of vigor. Not an ounce of vitality to be witnessed. Everyone looked borderline defeated. It gave me that same old awful feeling.

I took time to look at the servers specifically. They all looked tired, the conformed-to type of tiredness that makes me think maybe they all have that dull working pain down to their bones. But the one waitress who attended our table had this particular resigned sadness about her. Don’t get me wrong, she was perfectly polite and efficient, but I could just see it. Even though she was wearing a mask, I cannot forget her face. That resigned look she wore had an impact on me.

Now, I’m aware that sometimes people are sad isn’t some kind of genius revelation. And I guess that’s my point. Do you know the term ‘mores’? It speaks to our way of life, the essential and/or characteristic customs and conventions of a community. Social Mores are the reason why, for example, when you’re a kid, it’s weird to see a teacher at the supermarket or on vacation. Even though we’re aware other people are three-dimensional human beings with their own lives just like we are, we usually only see them to the extent that they fit their mores in relation to us. Perhaps that’s why that particularly sad server stood out to me so much. I’ve interacted with countless employees and other costumers and other people my entire life, and I don’t learn their names or wonder about their stories, and they don’t learn mine. A server is a server, a costumer is a costumer, the other person there is just another person there. But that day, the employee mores was broken. And now, it makes me think it’s regretful that I never got her name, that I don’t know her story, just like pretty much everyone around me, and others around them, and so on. She’s a three-dimensional being, but to me she’ll forever just be that sad server. Perhaps she just thinks of me as that staring costumer. Though it’s more likely she hasn’t thought of me at all.

I guess that’s just how it is, after all, civil inattention is yet another social mores. The world only works when it’s full of stories left untold. But this weird way of coexistence we’ve habituated ourselves to just weirds me out. I don’t like that we’re just meant to be used to the fact the world is full of sad, tired people. I’m sure it hardly matters to my life personally if an employee has to unhappily do their job because I’m there. I just think it should matter a little bit more.

Naturally, I’m an overthinker. Not that that matters to you. This is just a reflection of someone who has done more people-watching than people-talking-to.