Synchronicity

“Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worse kind of suffering.”
- Paulo Coelho

I was once interviewed for a server's position by a young woman, who should not have been conducting interviews. At the time I did not know that her managerial role was to be nominal in the absence of the regular manager, who had taken a two-week hiatus in the Caribbean. Regardless, I was hired because on my resume I listed Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist among my favourite books. I kept the job for two years, and it provided me with the necessary experience to obtain future employment over the next decade.

If you've not ever read The Alchemist the synchronicity of my wee tale may, to you, appear elusive. "A fable about following your dream," reads Coelho's subtitle. The Alchemist is concerned with fate (vs. free will), love, luck, spiritual enlightenment, omens, and personal enlightenment (Wikipedia).

Coelho implicitly maintains that the concept of coincidence is just that, a concept. Our lives are not comprised of randomly isolated, and disconnected events; our moments are significantly intertwined. We exist within a universal complexity, which understands us more than we understand It.

Coelho addresses the pursuance of individual destiny as something integral to intrinsic fulfillment. I agree. I also agree with his analysis of fear.

"People are afraid to pursue their most important dreams, because they feel that they don't deserve them, or that they'll be unable to achieve them."

Personally, I won't live in fear because I don't believe anyone can. It is an oxymoron. You may die in fear, but you can't live in it.

Fear is death; confrontation is the only means of annihilating fear. There is no heroism in unhappiness, there is only sorrow.

“When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.”

No, I do not think that the universe conspired to aid me in some misconstrued mission to become a waitress, but I do think that there was a touch of serendipity at work in my acquisition of a long-ago interview.

In the composition of my resume, so many years ago, I was advised by a friend to omit the section in which I outlined my "Personal Interests." She meant well, but I disagreed. Ultimately I was hired based upon my willingness to breach formalized protocol, and share my list of preferred readings. An apparently small decision, which has led me to where I am now in my life.

My "dream?" I wish to teach at the secondary school level. English Literature (shock me shock me...). I've been afforded the opportunity to maintain a work schedule, which allows for the scheduling of university classes, and the financial means to support myself on a few shifts a week because I garnered experience within the Industry -- because once upon a time I included The Alchemist on my resume. Is this too much a stretch for you? It is not for me.

This afternoon I decide to wax about this subject because currently, I am re-reading Homeschooling, a collection of meditative, and poignant short stories written by Canadian author, Carol Windley.

Stories laden with synchronism.

Customary & Appreciated

In a recent e-mail to a friend, describing the premise of my blog, I explained that I've chosen to write about the service industry because I thought, after many years working within various contexts relevant, I'd have much to say. It has been tricky. I have not wanted to waste anyone's time bitching about lousy customers or poor tips. I've been striving to write about my thoughts in general, while still relating such musings to the industry.

I've done a fair job, I think, of avoiding the whining-waitress cliché for nearly three months. This post however, is about tipping.

My day began at six this morning after a indulgent four hours of sleep. I am a cyclic-insomniac. For weeks at a time I may operate with virtually no REM to sustain me because my waking hours are spent dreamily enough. I love to daydream. A pastime I believe must somehow compensate for my lack of "nightdreaming." Alternately, I experience sustained periods in which ten hours a night does not seem to suffice, but I think that this is because once taunted, I want more... sleep that is.

After spending fourteen hours at school, a few of them quite pleasurably, within myself I found not an iota of energy, or desire to bus it home. Lazy me, I opted to spend the extra nine dollars on a cab.

Upon paying my fare I asked for a specific amount of change in return, believing that I had left enough for a tip. As my driver counted coins I realized that I had performed some seriously poor math; inadvertently suggesting an intention to tip a paltry eighty-five cents. Now, I understand that not everyone considers tipping their cabbie, but as a server I think that if my delivery of a drink deserves a buck or two, the individual I've entrusted my wellbeing on the road with deserves at least the same. I corrected myself, and tipped the man.

I share with you this anecdote because I desire to demonstrate that there are times when the absence of a tip is an honest oversight.

And there are times when it is not. This video is eight minutes long, but watch it. Please. I was astounded. Oh, be forewarned: video contains partial nudity. '?' Yes, nudity. And not the sort that will leave you pining for more.

This woman is for real. And her sister is a waitress? Familial issues anyone? Possibly? No. I think just an utter lack of respect for her fellow human beings, and herself.

Although some may argue that her waiter did not react in the most professional manner, I must admit that I too have called customers out on not tipping. I have not ever chased anyone to the curb in order to complain, but I have, with my particular panache, been politely confrontational. I once had a "gentleman" who, after reassuring me that everything (including the service) was excellent, proceeded to justify his $4 tip on a $130 tab by explaining: "Well, that's just what I felt like tipping." To which I sweetly responded: "Well, I guess I know how I'll feel like serving you the next time I see you." Professional? Maybe not, but I never saw him again. And I'm not sorry.

Attempting to reason that a server "knows" what they've "gotten into" by accepting a waitressing position is simply unreasonable. Assuming you've not yet mastered the art of alchemy, cash needs to be made, right? Bills and all that fun stuff, which rides on the back of what it is to be self-aware. Ironic humans. We are interesting creatures, but creatures possessive of a survival instinct nonetheless. Sometimes you do what needs to be done in order to survive, and sometimes that involves taking what is available, when it is available. I work service because it is most conducive to my lifestyle. I am attending school because I am interested in self-betterment, because I love literature, and because well... I want to. My schedule is hectic and not easily adaptable to many other professions. Service is flexible. Does that mean that I don't deserve to be tipped? Because this is what I've chosen?

I'm dying to know what my readers think of this woman's rant. Please send me your comments.