Yellowstone National Park

Once in Yellowstone National Park, I began to feel anxious. In mid-May, the ground was still covered with snow and cautionary signs flashed icy road warnings. I hadn’t spent much time in the food and beverage industry and had very little confidence in my ability to efficiently clear tables. In addition, the Lake Hotel Dining Room was not only a four star restaurant, but the only eating establishment that would be open in that location for the next month. With the hotel and cabins booked for the entire summer, the dining room would be wall-to-wall tourists who had just spent days trapped in four-door traveling prisons with their families. Needless to say, I did not have high hopes for understanding and tolerant customers.



Frozen Lake



The first thing we did was pick up our uniforms, a task that failed to elevate my spirits. Between the yellowing white button down shirts, which had clearly suffered years of over starching and cheap detergent, and the high-fitting black pants that were too short, even for me (I’m barely 5’2), and closed in on your waist like the trash compactor in Star Wars: A New Hope, in the fashion of Barbie’s designer jeans, I felt, shall we say, odd? And I mustn’t forget the stylish bowties that triggered in me an impulse to slap my own reflection in the face when confronted by a mirror.

Later we were assigned our dorm room and instructed to show up at the hotel in full uniform at 9 a.m. the following day. The following day we would also notice that we were the only employees in uniform. Apparently, immediately after we received our assignment, personnel decided it would be pointless for us to wear our uniforms during training.

Within the first hour of orientation, I was pulled aside by a manager and told that there were not enough servers, and they wanted to move me up to the position.  Three other server assistants were petitioned along with me. All of us accepted after being told how much servers usually made during the season. Immediately after, I sat down by a second year Yellowstoner who had worked in the pantry the previous season but had applied to be a server assistant this year to make more money. When I asked, why not a server, she replied:

         
       “Are you kidding? I can’t be a server. It’s too stressful. Last year my roommate was a server. She came home crying after like six dinner shifts. So, what’s your job going to be?”