“It’s Hard to be Humble” was a hit song in the 1970s by country music singer Mac Davis.
Oddly, I haven’t been able to get the catchy tune out of my head for days.
I recently started working as a part-time on-call banquet server at a nearby country club. After almost six months without wearing an apron, I couldn’t take it any longer. Doing so much of nothing was driving me crazy. Plus, I missed my live audience and the socializing that came with my service job. Unfortunately, my schedule must be secondary to the boys’ schedules (my husband Joe and grandson Jeremy’s) because I am officially retired.
This catering opportunity was perfect. Weekly schedules come out two weeks in advance, and I don’t have to dedicate any particular days or times to work. I can simply check the events calendar for the month and choose my available shifts.
Sadly, I have more years of experience in the hospitality industry than my new co-workers each have alive. However, I knew going into this venture that it would be best not to brag about my 40 years in the business.
Blossom, the young lady who interviewed, hired, and now supervises me, openly told me that I was older than her mother when we first met – to which she quickly added, “But you look really young for your age.”
Not sure if I was supposed to take that as a compliment or not, I turned it into the ice breaker that got me the job. In addition, it started our new work relationship off with a bang.
The first time I met my other new supervisor, Katey, I had already worked for the company for a couple of weeks. Because of my schedule restrictions, I had only worked event set-ups and break-downs and a few small luncheons at the facility. On the other hand, Katey is the “Catering Director ” and is more in charge of the main functions. She was not typically around when I was on the clock. One day, however, there was a full-blown, sit-down, open bar, formal wedding that I had spent hours setting up the day before, and I finally got a chance actually to serve the guests; Katey was in charge that day, and for a change, I was serving under her supervision.
When I arrived dressed, as Jeremy puts it, “looking like a black crayon,” I immediately realized I was not in proper uniform because everyone else in the room looked like a penguin.
For each event I had worked thus far, I wore black pants, a black belt, black professional shoes, with either a black long-sleeve button-down shirt, a full-body, black apron down to my knees, and a classic, black silk necktie. Or I wore a black short-sleeved Polo shirt. They had given almost all of this to me nearly a month ago when I began working.
Somehow, someone dropped the ball when they were handing out my uniforms because I never got a white tuxedo shirt, black vest, or bow tie; and there was no way I was about to put on an unlaundered wrinkled new one right out of the packaging now. So I played it off as, “Oops. My bad,” and I promised never to let it happen again.
Neither the black crayon nor the penguin uniform is anything like my old uniform at Billy’s Cafe. Only there I could sport my rainbow-colored selection of Chuck Taylor high tops, matching T-shirts, and customized aprons that, thanks to my dear friend Rose, had my name embroidered on them.
So, as we all introduced ourselves in our monochrome uniforms, it took everything in me not to toot my own horn. First, Valerie asked me, “Have you ever worked a wedding before?”
To which I answered “Yes.” (“I’ve been doing this since before your mother was born,” is what I wanted to say.)
Then Erin asked, “Are you going to have your own section, or are you following one of us?”
To which I looked at him and said, “I’ll have my own section.” (Because who would I follow?)
Suddenly, those Mac Davis lyrics began to repeat in my head, “Oh Lord, it’s hard to be humble when you’re perfect in every way.”
Luckily, I have a delicious recipe for “Humble Pie,” and I’ve unintentionally put my foot inside my mouth to people more influential than this crew so many times that I am used to the taste of sole. Too bad skip-proofs aren’t nearly as tasty as Chuck Taylors.
Just then, Katey walked over, making direct eye contact with me over her mask. Her big brown puppy eyes looked at me like a child would, and she asked, “I know you have a lot of experience in catering, but can you carry a tray?”
With that, I had an overwhelming urge to scream out to the class, “I know what I am doing!”
But instead, I blurted out, “Of course, I can carry a tray. I can carry a tray on my head with a mug of beer on it while prancing around in 6-inch stiletto heels.”
“What?!” She questioned as her one eyebrow lifted.
“Seriously,” I giggled. “You should check out my site laughswithlisa.com. My introduction has a photograph of me holding a tray with a milkshake on the top of my head. No editing involved!”
Unsure whether or not to believe me, Katey walked over to the service area and grabbed a round beverage tray and a 9 oz plastic tumbler. “Show me,” she said.
“My pleasure,” I said, letting out another little giggle. Then I grabbed my juggling materials to show these kids how extraordinary the new “old lady” they were working with really was.
“Live and learn,” I said with a wink.
Then, like a circus performer under the spotlight, I put on a show. I not only carried the tray and the cup on my head while strutting around the entire dining hall, but when I finished, I tipped my head, causing the tray to pop. The cup flew into my hand while I caught the tray in my other hand — ending with my usual Betty Boop curtsy.
I received high rewards for my performance, and it felt great to be out in the real world again, even if it is only on limited work release.
Note to self: Never wear all black to an event that I’m be supposed to dress in my “Black & Whites.” Because when your supervisor dresses like one of the patrons and everyone else looks like a waiter, the guests assumed I had to be in charge and kept coming to me with their needs and requests. Even the young man DJ’ing the event told me he thought I was running the show.
I guess it’s time for me to pull out my “Reserved Stock” of humility” and start baking up some pies!
Laugh on. Peace out!
Lisa DeMarco is a columnist for Villages-News.com