For two days a week at The Publishing Group Ltd., I’m an intern. I wear business-casual clothes, I type up my stories in an office and I build a portfolio for a professional career.

For the other five days a week, I wait tables at a local sports bar/restaurant. I wear a uniform; I run around the restaurant, I try to earn rent. Often times, I’ll work a double shift. After all, tuition isn’t going to pay itself.

I arrive at 11:30 a.m. The restaurant is pretty quiet. I talk with the other servers, sometimes the hostesses. We talk about what we did last night, significant others and our woeful lack of money. Twenty minutes later, I get my first table of the day.

I walk up, it’s a middle-aged woman. She sits alone at the table, but there are two menus I see. Time to introduce myself.

I begin with the usual: “Hi, my name is….”
“Ice tea,” she cuts me off.
Funny. I thought my name was Chris.

I smile, turn around, and head to the drink station to prepare her ice tea. Upon returning to the table, I gently set the glass down in front of her.

“I’m meeting someone else, come back then” she says immediately, as if I was unable to see the second menu on the table. Again, I smile politely.

I go back to talking with my friends, keeping an eye on my table to make sure her drink doesn’t get too low and that I’m ready when the rest of her party arrives.

A couple minutes later, I get another table.
He’s on his cell phone.

I walk by casually, just so he sees me. I don’t want to interrupt his conversation, but don’t want him wondering where his server is either. He looks up at me and mouths the words “diet coke” to me.

Again, I’m off to fetch the drink.
I come back. He’s so engrossed in his conversation; he doesn’t acknowledge me putting down the drink.

My first table still sits all by her lonesome, as does my second table now.
Again, I go back to my friends, keeping a watchful eye on my tables.

Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes go by. I get maybe one refill, otherwise, it’s pretty slow.

After a while, more and more people come in, and I get a table of six businessmen. All wearing suits. They all want separate checks. I walk up to the table and at this exact moment, each of my other two tables has the people they’ve been waiting on arrive.

It takes me a minute to get the six drink orders, as the men can’t decide what they want. In the end, most of them get water – with lemon.

Great, free water. That’ll help the check average.

As I race to get all the drinks done, my other tables are looking around for me. I can see them ask: “Where is he?”

Ugh.
I get the drinks on the table and look at my watch. I was quick about it, but now I need to get to my other tables.

“We’re ready to order,” says one of the guys at my table of six men.
“Yeah, we’re on our lunch hour, we need to get the food out quick,” says another.
I look over to my other tables.
“I’ll be right back, I just need to take care of something,” I promise.
I dash over to the other tables, and prepare their drink orders. In no time, I’m back.

“Okay,” I say. “What can I get for you?”
“Uhhhhhh,” says the first man. Oh, man. He’s still deciding.
It’s getting busier now. I’m getting sat another table.

Eventually, they all order off the menu. Well, sort of. Most of them make amendments to their items, changing the bread, deleting a laundry list of items from a sandwich, etc.

I greet my new table, get their drinks, and go back to the computer to put their order in. All in all, I’m able to keep up. The food comes out correctly; people’s drinks are never empty. I’m feeling pretty good. Until this first round of tables are ready to pay. And of course, they’re all ready to pay at the same time.

The men are easy, it’s all one bill and they offer me a credit card.
Zip! Done.

The ladies are separate. They both offer me 20-dollar bills for checks that are less than $9. I look at my wallet. I don’t have enough change. Oh right, I’m broke.

I go to the bar to get change. The bartender is friendly. She gets me what I need. I go back, and make the appropriate change, conscious to use singles for the people to include as a tip.

Ok, people are all cashed out, and I’m getting my next round of tables. I do it all over again. In the meantime, I swing by the tables in between greets and collect my tips.

I get 10 percent on one and 12 percent on the other. Come on, I gave good service!

Oh well, at least I have my three-dollar-and-change hourly wage I can count on.
Overall, the lunch crowd is decent, but the rush dies off quickly.
By 1:30, it’s quiet again.

Cut to the end of the night, I’ve just finished the dinner shift. I’m beat. I think of all the people who have their hands out, demanding money. Tuition will be due soon in the next couple of weeks for summer quarter. My car is out of gas. The electric bill is due tomorrow.

I count up all my money for the day: 80 dollars.
I worked a nine hour day. 80 divided by nine is 8.88. I’ve made eight dollars and 88 cents an hour as far as tips.
I go home, ready to go back to the world of journalism – working toward that beautiful goal, “graduation.”
Because hopefully “graduation” will lead to “job.”
Then it’ll be my turn to order.