Rudyard Kipling suggests that “if you can wait, and not be tired by waiting … yours is the earth and everything that’s in it.” He gives patience as much weight as not “dealing in lies” or giving “way to hate” in his advisory poem If. While I might not agree with that extreme praise of patience, I must admit, waiting is not easy – but then again, I am not a patient person.

This spring marks my third anniversary of waiting – tables, that is. I graduated college three years ago, and I decided that until I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would take a job in a local restaurant – and take advantage of the time said job would give me to pursue travel and fun. My naïve assumption upon graduation was that I would sooner, rather than later, figure out exactly what I wanted to pursue, without doubt, and it would fit perfectly in my interests, passions, wants, needs and funds. I’m still waiting.

But I’m killing time by writing many versions of a resumé, targeted for many, many different jobs. As I strategically slant my skillset for each desired position, I have developed a theory: my waiting has qualified me for nearly any job I may be ambitious enough to apply for. Vice Presidential candidate seems reasonable (if Sarah was qualified, why not me?) I realize potential employers/current readers might be skeptical of how waiting tables and bartending qualifies one for work in the big bad world of “real” jobs; but just as I will urge prospective bosses to finish reading my cover letter, readers, please don’t flip to “Dear Diver” just yet.

It is no stretch of the imagination that many of the service industry folk are more than qualified to be skiing/rock climbing/river guides – in fact, many are. We simply use our time away from work to hone the skills that make our lifestyle worthwhile. Either way, your friendly local server is probably the person with whom you should go into the backcountry.  (Also they are cheaper than guiding companies and are easily bribed with beer.)

I would also ask a fellow bartender about any travel information I desire before I went to a travel agency. They’ve traveled almost anywhere you can imagine, probably cheaper than you can imagine, and have the best “…so-then-we-slept-on-the-cement-at-the-Costa-Rica/Nicaragua-border” stories. There aren’t many other jobs where one can take a month off to travel in India, and if you’ve been out to eat lately, you’ve observed that the off-season is upon us. What else is a poor waitress to do?

Sometimes previous training comes in handy and makes one a better server. I know my college professors would be proud, especially Dr. Minton who urged me to go to get my masters and PhD in English literature, if I told them I have a job where I talk about books all the time! Sure, sometimes it’s the Hunger Games not Hamlet, or The Help not The Color Purple, but I have time to read and discuss them. I’m sure graduate schools will take my experience into account.

I’m a better book critic than therapist, but because advice goes with the apron, I try to fulfill expectations. Bartending allows me to feign sympathy instead of calling people dumb donkeys. This job has taught me to have more empathy for those deserving it, patience for those who don’t, and reminds me that it never helps my tip to call attention to their narcissism. Go figure.

Many jobs are further off the mark – the bartender-therapist is a staple of sitcoms and day time dramas alike, but the service industry can groom you for much more ambitious career paths.

For example, if I were to lose 15 or more pounds and apply an inch of make-up, I believe I would make an excellent Miss Colorado; heck, I have a good smile and if I bought better boobs, why not Miss America? The service industry has trained me to smile sweetly at the drop of a coin (or a credit card), and summer tourism brings out an inadvertent southern drawl— honey truly does catch more flies than vinegar. And who doesn’t want world peace?

I believe that anyone who bartends with skill could find even greater success in politics. Our own mayor honed her people skills waiting tables before she was elected to City Council. Based on the outrageous interviews and national debates that have heretofore dominated this year’s electoral campaign, she must have learned something that lifelong politicians have not. I maintain that I know many people who pour beer for a living who can more skillfully answer a probing question with tautological eloquence than Newt Gingrich.  Unless Gingrich was being diplomatic when he called Spanish the language of the ghetto?  

          
The people skills acquired bartending could help one qualify for a CEO position, and since we know bartenders can hold their liquor, of course the company would send you to Japan for the meeting, the kind of business transaction where the men bond over a night of binge drinking. No contest.  

The drinking culture of bartenders lends itself to other jobs as well. Artists, writers, painters and pianists of any quality need angst, alcohol and a muse – all of which can be found at any good bar. Art is competitive, and in this frigid economic climate, one might settle for hoping for posthumous fame. And while many aspiring artists desire impoverishment in order to create, tips buy paint supplies.

Waiting isn’t easy – tables, that is. It’s a skill that can be refined and trained but that takes an innate sociability, like many other jobs. It’s given me more than just my rent. If I’m lucky, bartending will help me keep my writing job, giving me ideas for a column that allows for a creative outlet and intellectual hope while I wait. It would be so much easier, though, if I knew what I was waiting for.

– Maggie Casey