Little intimacies

With restaurants re-opening for outdoor dining in LA this week, it’s been a week of learning curves for everyone. I’m learning that we are all doing different things at each restaurant to be COVID-safe, and that guests are required to be on their toes and flexible; two things that are not normally associated with a learned practice of relaxation and pampering that would otherwise go with an evening of dining. My partner’s restaurant doesn’t allow anyone but back-servers or bussers to clear anything that has been touched by a guest. My restaurant, however, allows anyone to bus as-needed, but we are expected to immediately wash our hands and sanitize before doing anything else. Tablets are often being used now to provide distance, efficiency and clarity during this otherwise maddening time. QR codes are used en mass, it appears, across most restaurants to access the menu. My restaurant is also using QR codes to make payment, so we don’t have to touch your credit cards or touch pens that may or may not have been easily sanitized during a busy service. But one thing remains true through all of this: that most diners are patient and understand we are still in a crisis, but some still believe that the same level of service is to be expected.

It is hard, as someone who has now worked in service for 20 years, to change some habits. Habits like wanting to pour your water when I see it’s empty on the table, or wanting to swap out dirty items for clean ones in one fell-swoop. I fight back the urge to fold your napkin when you leave to use the restroom, or to shake a hand when it’s held out to me by a guest who simply wants to thank me. I hate this feeling of having to shake off all the little intimacies that are part of the sexiness of service. It is part of what we do to feel close to your experience, to feel that we are riding the wave of your feelings as you see dish after dish arrive and be cleared. The ballet of movement in service, which is often a swift and delicate balance, is full of jolts and hard stops now. I’m constantly being interrupted to wash my hands. I find myself en route to do one thing, and then distracted by needing to sanitize my tablet or put on gloves for wine service. Just the act of having you taste a wine feels dangerous, because it causes more glassware, more fingerprints, more places for a virus to ruin both of our lives. We have to read our tables in a new way too; are you just friends, on a date, married? E.g. how much marking will I need to do for sharing? Is it just an extra spoon, or like a full-on multiple-plate situation? So many new little details. Not to mention trying to quietly discuss anything with my back server. Often, our first languages are not the same, and then we are also double-masked and shielded. I wish they had taught sign-language in school instead of Latin.

And then there are the more frustrating moments, unfortunately caused by guests who find “all this pandemic nonsense” to be so inconvenient for them. I know. It is inconvenient. And I know that it used to be an unspoken assumption that if I were serving you, that I were somehow in a position of less value than your experience. The pandemic has exposed one truth about people: they either value your life as a human, or they do not. They either put their mask on when you arrive at the table, or they do not. They either do their best to abide by and use the precautions we have in place for our safety, or they do not. And they show their colors by the action or in-action that they choose to take.

Now, what is hardest with the reality of the vaccine is the stark economic divide of those who managed to pay off a doctor to get them vaccinated, and those who are still waiting in line despite being front-line economy workers. I cringe at the guests who flippantly say, “Don’t worry, I’m vaccinated.” Congratulations! I’m so glad that whatever connections you had helped you to get vaccinated before myself, a restaurant worker who is direct contact with people’s germs on the regular. Of course there are those who are vaccinated because of their age, their work in healthcare or their proximity to those with immune issues, but this is Los Angeles: most of the people who declare that they are vaccinated do not immediately fit any of these requirements. I know this, because they a) discuss their jobs at their tables, b) are well-below 65 years old and c) are often so clearly wealthy that I know they are part of the class of “I just paid off my doctor to get the vaccine”. I know of one restaurant owner who had her own family, including her healthy adult children, all vaccinated on her own dime and has not put into place any kind of vaccination eduction or program for her employees. There is a special circle of hell reserved for you all…

We want our little intimacies back. We want to be close to you again. We want to laugh and feel safe to open our mouths while you’re tasting that slate-y Riesling after convincing you to try a Riesling. But, please, please, don’t flaunt your cavalier attitude about this at people who are putting themselves at risk all of the time to do something they love and to give you an experience. Be cool. Be kind. And have an amazing evening.