I’m a waitress on Friday nights.
I work at an adorable little restaurant in a tiny town in Western Kentucky that serves fried fish on Fridays and treats people like family (and looks nothing like the above stock photo). I’m pretty sure I got the job because I’m in there every Tuesday morning for Bible study with one of my small group babies and then also on the weekends and, you know, whenever else. What can I say? The food is good. Regardless, I love it and the people with whom I get the privilege of working.
While I hate running the cash register (it’s a terrifyingly pressurized responsibility to push the right buttons and handle people’s money [which is probably why God never let me experience my childhood dream of being a cashier at Kroger]), I love being a waitress. I love getting to talk to people and learn their names and tastes and I especially love to joke around and laugh with them.
In the short time I’ve worked there, I’ve learned more than which shoes to wear for a night of work (hello, blisters) and how to write a (somewhat) proper ticket; I’ve learned a lot about myself, the Gospel, and community.