Try Smiling More: A Waiter’s Unexpected Journey

I previously worked as a waiter. One woman arrived at the restaurant with an already intense level of anger. She snapped her fingers, returned food without explanation, did not leave a tip, and wrote, “Try smiling more.” Therefore, I implemented it.

Afterward, I flipped the receipt and inscribed the following: “Consider increasing your tip.” She observed it and immediately halted.

She appeared to be on the brink of an explosion for a brief period. The narrow, cold orbs of hers returned to mine.

I was under the impression that I was about to be terminated or, at the very least, publicly reprimanded. Nevertheless, she rose from her seat, retrieved her purse, and exited the room without uttering a single word.

I assumed that was the conclusion. Another unsatisfactory customer in a lengthy line of them. In all honesty, I had become accustomed to them.

Working at a mid-tier diner on the outskirts of downtown, you encounter a variety of individuals. The individuals who attempt to conceal your presence.

Those who treat you as a subordinate. Additionally, there are those who are uncommonly generous, leaving a commendable tip and a smile. However, what about her? She remains etched in my memory.

I recognized something in her expression as she departed, rather than because of what she said. I am not angry. No malice intended. An admission of guilt.

A few days passed. Life continued. Pancakes were flipped, orders were misplaced, and coffee was served. Afterward, she returned on a typically quiet Tuesday afternoon.

I encountered her prior to her encountering me. The same sharp blouse, the same stiff gait. However, something was amiss. She appeared fatigued.

Not in the sense of having a “bad day”; rather, she had not slept well for weeks. She occupied the identical corner bench. She refrained from snapping her fingertips this time. She awaited.

I approached, uncertain about what to anticipate. I was experiencing an unusual abdominal movement. “Hello,” I replied with apprehension. “Again?”

Her voice was gentler, but she did not smile. Answer: “Yes.” I am obliged to offer a contrition.

That was not what I had anticipated.

She reached into her purse and emerged with a folded piece of paper. I initially suspected that it might be a complaint form or a printed online review; however, this was not the case. It was a missive. Written by hand.

“I refrained from tipping you that day, not because you were undeserving.” You were unharmed. It is merely… I was incensed. Not directed at you. In all aspects.

I refrained from uttering any words. Standing motionless, she fidgeted with her hands.

“My son passed away.” One month ago. Accident involving a vehicle. I have not been feeling well. Additionally, it was his birthday on the day I arrived.

I was struck by it like a deluge. Her icy disposition. The act of cracking. The memo. It was entirely unrelated to me.

It was anguish that caused her to lash out at the nearest object that moved. I abruptly experienced a sense of regret regarding my brief response to the receipt.

I expressed my sincere apologies.

She shook her head. “I apologize. What did you compose? You were correct. I was being impolite. I suppose I simply required someone to acknowledge that I was in a state of disarray. I am aware that it is not your responsibility, but…

Her voice broke. She glanced down, embarrassed.

Across from her, I slipped into the booth. Probably not “professional,” but I had a sense that this was not about the norms.

“I was unaware,” I replied. “However, I appreciate your return.” The majority of individuals would not.

She agreed. “May I have a cup of coffee?” Could you please take a seat for a moment?

I declined to request remuneration. I simply brought her the coffee and sat down as soon as I could. She informed me about her offspring.

Jonah was his given name. He was fond of skateboarding, overly sweetened cereal, and abhorrent horror films. She smiled once when she recounted how he would microwave marshmallows until they erupted.

Our conversation lasted for an hour. She left a $20 gratuity for a $3 cappuccino.

That ought to have been the conclusion. However, existence has a peculiar tendency to fold in on itself.

She established herself as a consistent participant over the course of the subsequent weeks. The same exhibit. The same coffee. Occasionally, a croissant is consumed. Occasionally, a narrative concerning Jonah is recounted. I never pressed or prodded. I have only observed.

Denise was her given name.

Upon entering the diner one morning, I discovered a small envelope at the counter that bore my name. A note from Denise was enclosed.

“You reminded me that kindness persists, even in the face of a world that appears to be falling apart.” I am grateful.

Additionally, a verification. For $500.

I was taken aback. That was rent money. In reality, it exceeds the cost of rent. I dashed to the street in anticipation of catching her, but she was not present.

She arrived the following day as if nothing had occurred. She dismissed my attempt to communicate.

“I sold a few of Jonah’s possessions.” I believed that the funds could be allocated to an individual who was attempting to maintain their financial stability. I surmised that you are likely to be.

She was correct. I was two weeks overdue on my rent. My hours were also on the brink of being reduced by my superior. I was spared by that check.

Then, the unexpected turn of events occurred.

One Friday evening, a man entered the diner wearing spectacles that were slipping down his nose and a suit that was not quite fitting. He inquired as to whether I was “the individual who restored Denise’s smile.”

I breathe. “I suppose?”

He grinned. “She discusses you.” I am her sibling. I am Greg. I operate a modest nonprofit organization that specializes in youth programs.

Additionally, I collaborate with a food truck that provides reentry opportunities for former criminals.

I continued to be perplexed. “All right…”

He leaned in. “We require an individual who is knowledgeable about food.” Who is not apprehensive about others. Denise asserts that you are proficient in both.

It was discovered that they were preparing to establish a new diner in the city center. The concept was identical, but with a unique spin.

Every employee would be an individual who is attempting to restart their life, including those who have been released from incarceration, have fled shelters, or have reached the age of leaving the system. They required an individual to supervise the floor and assist in the training of new stewards.

I am.
I had never previously been responsible for any task. I did not even complete my undergraduate studies. However, he stated that Denise had faith in me. Additionally, this sufficed.

I made the plunge.

It was difficult to depart from the older diner. It served as my foundation for survival. However, three months later, Second Serve, a new establishment, officially opened its doors.

It was not spectacular. We encountered complications with the utilities. In the initial week, the fryer malfunctioned on two separate occasions.

However, each individual present expressed a desire for an additional opportunity to live. Additionally, I was granted the opportunity to participate in that. Not merely flipping pancakes, but flipping lives.

Ramon was one of our initial employees. He had been incarcerated for larceny, but he was a man with a heart. Silent. Monitored every aspect. When I demonstrated how to balance platters on one arm, he took notes.

One day, a consumer exhibited an attitude toward him. He trembled, as if anticipating a blow. However, I intervened with composure and determination. Reminded the consumer that we treated everyone with respect in this establishment, regardless of their status.

In the aftermath, Ramon stated, “I have never had anyone advocate for me before.”

It was a moment that remained with me.

Kayla, who had recently turned 19, was another example. She had been destitute since the age of fifteen. During her initial shift, she accidentally dropped a tray of cups. All surfaces are shattered. She began to weep, stating that she would simply leave, as she was aware that she would make a mess.

I presented her with a broom and informed her, “You are not departing.” You are acquiring knowledge. In the same way that we all are.

She remained. Presently, she serves as our most exceptional hostess.

At the six-month mark, Denise visited.

She gazed around and observed a bustling environment filled with individuals engaged in activities such as dining, working, and laughing. Her eyes were filled with weeping.

She expressed her admiration for you.

I responded, “I would not be present without your assistance.”

She chuckled. “I have just written a crude comment on a receipt.”

I replied, “No.” “You returned.” That was the critical factor.

And she did. Time and time again. Meals were donated. Supported one of our employees in attending night school. Even established a small support group for bereaved parents in our side room on Tuesdays.

I never anticipated that a snide remark would result in such a complex situation. A dining establishment. A community. A second chance—not only for myself, but also for others.

And now for the most exciting part.

A young man entered our establishment one afternoon one year after we had opened. His hands were buried in his hoodie pocket, as he was feeling anxious. I recognized something in his eyes: the same bewildered expression that Denise wore on the first day.

He occupied the same stall.

Did not place an extensive order. A simple cup of coffee. He also did not speak much. Until I presented the payment.

He turned it over and inscribed:

“Smile more often.”

I nearly burst out laughing. However, he later stated, “I am uncertain as to the reason for writing that.” It is merely… I have experienced the most dreadful month of my existence.

I took a seat across from him.

“Do you wish to discuss the matter?”

He hesitated. Then, he nodded.

And with that, the cycle recommenced.

Occasionally, all that is required is a seat, a smile, and a listener.

What is the moral of the story? Do not underestimate the significance of returning. Offering an apology. Of selecting kindness in the face of pain.

If we allow it, a single small act or rude remark can have a profound impact on an individual’s life, or the lives of many. You never know who is just one conversation away from changing everything.

If this narrative resonated with you, please consider liking and sharing it. It is possible that someone out there requires to hear it today.