As I stare at the clock, waiting for the hands to read 5:30, I take a deep breath. One customer, four customers, ten customers, soon enough, there is an ocean of customers in front of my eyes. I sit all the customers down, place down menus in front of them, and ask 

“What would you like to drink?”

I hurriedly get the drinks and hand them to the twenty-five customers impatiently waiting to order. A woman complains, shouting at the top of her lungs 

“I wanted Lemonade, not sweet tea!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, let me get you another one,” I respond instinctively.

After I hand the woman her sweet tea, I begin gathering the orders of the remaining customers. One wants three catfish-shrimp dinners, grilled, peeled deveined, replacing the coleslaw with extra fries and a California roll, all to-go. I realize this person is probably ordering for her whole family, so I add in a few more utensils and condiments. Another customer orders a twelve-piece chicken tender dinner with hushpuppies and gumbo with rice. This customer was in a rush to eat, so I assume that they were starving and put some more rice in their gumbo. As expected, the plate was clean as they were leaving. The phone rings. I rush to the counter to pick up the phone,

“Hello, this is Bayou Fresh Seafood. How may I help you?”

The customer orders five different sushi rolls and snow crab. Afterward, I check up on all the customers; I notice some of them seemed upset, I make sure to prioritize them by getting food to them first, as a way to calm them down, while they eat some delicious food. I quickly go back to attend to the other customers. This hecticness continues for the next 4 hours. Once we reach closing hours, I rub my aching feet, stretch my sore back, and prepare to head home and sleep. 

I hated the restaurant when I was younger. I hated talking to people, having to serve people, just having to interact. Sometimes, it felt like I couldn’t be the kid I wanted to be. On the weekdays, I would head straight home after school to help my mom with chores in my father’s absence. Only my mom and I lived together at that time as my dad owned an apartment near the restaurant. I ended up spending a lot of time with my mom: watching TV together, cooking together, and helping me finish my homework. Otherwise, I was alone; the restaurant separated me from my other classmates and it felt like I was letting life go right by me as I spent it working somewhere that shackled me down.

During that time, I never understood the point of working at the restaurant, it felt like a waste of time. It wasn’t until my junior year of high school that I realized the impact it had on me. My parents sent me away to a boarding school for my high school education. As I met people and made friends, I subconsciously utilized the skills I had learned from the restaurant. I started to notice when my friends seemed off. Therefore, I was able to assist them, guiding them through their troubles as I formulated a solution, offering support and comfort when they needed it, just like how I had with my mother while my father was away at the restaurant. Soon enough, the restaurant was no longer the barrier to my relationships but the facilitator. 

Entering the restaurant, I seat myself in front of the sushi bar, greeting my dad and letting him know that a few friends are coming. While I wait, I prepare some appetizers and set up menus with my mom. I watch the clock ticking: not because I’m ready to go back home, but because I’m excited to be here with friends.