Table Voice

In waitressing, there’s something known as “A Table Voice”. Most servers have one. It’s similar to a Phone Voice, only we have to add facial expressions and body language to our arsenal. It’s not just a tone of voice---it’s a Darwinian trait developed by servers to survive.

When we are sat a table, we are not only required to go out there with knowledge, expertise, and a pair of strong, well-shod waitress feet---we’ve got to act our asses off. We have to laugh when an old guy makes the same stupid joke we’ve heard a thousand times. We have to pretend we don’t notice that a couple is fighting or that a guy’s toupee is crooked. We have to be able to stand there with a smile and continue breathing while the stench of a customer’s colostomy bag rides up our noses. We have to fend off unwelcome advances from idiot customers without yelling at them or slapping them. And we have to remain poised and in control when a crazy old woman starts yelling at us about her inadequate portion of cole slaw.

In short, we have to fake it.

And I’m not very good at faking it.

I've never been a good liar. My mother always caught me in a lie. Not only that, but she liked to pretend she had special “Mom Powers”---like the ability to look down my throat after a long hard day at pre-school and tell me what I had for lunch.

“Um…I see fishsticks, corn, and spaghetti.”

“How could you see that?”

“I’m Mommy. I can see everything.”

Wow. Mommy was magic.

And I was someone you could see right thru. Right down to the fishsticks.

Every server’s Table Voice is distinctive to who they are as a person outside of that unflattering uniform. In a way, we’re like the homeless guys in the subway. Some stand there and tell you their life story, some pound on a plastic bucket or sing “Lean On Me”, and some simply walk up and down the aisle asking for spare change. Yeah, servers generally smell better; but both of us depend on people reaching into their pockets for survival.

Me? My Table Voice is pretty much me---but with an extra added touch of competence and control. You see, I think waiting tables is something like being a Kindergarten teacher. You have to smile and speak nicely to them. And you’re the adult in the room, so you have to be more mature than them. But if they start to act up, well, unfortunately, you can’t beat them---but you have to let them know who’s in charge.

Now, you may not detect this undercurrent of parochial school discipline as I’m telling you about the specials---but it’s there. Trust me. It’s how I survive.

We all have our Table Voices that we switch on and off throughout the day. We use different tones and timbres of our voices for job interviews, mating and courtship, conversations with our grandparents, and getting that new puppy to stop doing that on the rug. It’s all about getting what we want.

In writing it’s called tactics. It’s what separates soap opera scripts from Sundance winners. That’s why Independent films are interesting and Daytime TV is boring.

But in real life, isn’t it exhausting? Why all the dancing around our wants and needs? Why can’t we all be like customers in real life?

“I want a cheeseburger and---yeah, go ahead and give me bacon, too. Well done. Make sure it’s well done.”

Sure, it seems easy. So what’s the big fear? That someone will look down our throats and spot the bacon?

And what’s so bad about wanting a little bacon?

In writing, there’s something called “finding your voice”. Today, as I was writing, I was stunned to discover that I’d actually found my voice. The funny part is, I discovered that my “voice” doesn’t like to speak. It likes to keep secrets and hold things till the end. It likes keeping a straight face in the midst of chaos. And it flat out refuses to admit it wants bacon. And, like all “voices” it reflects who I am as a person outside my unflattering writing uniform.

More interesting? Hmmm. Exhausting? Yes.

But just because I open my mouth, doesn’t mean that anyone should be allowed to look down my throat and see what I had for lunch.

Smile. Table voice.