I waited my first table when I was 18 years old. I was applying at restaurants all over Nashville in hopes of getting a hostess position since it generally paid a bit over minimum wage. I applied at The Cooker Bar and Grille on West End Ave., but instead of hiring me to host the manager thought I would make a better server. It was that day that this waitress was born. That was more than eight years ago.

And in that eight years I have never shown any love for the hostesses. Excuse me, host staff. I mean, I would fill in occasionally as a hostess at the casual dining, chain restaurants where I served, and believe me that job is a cakewalk. When I filled in as a host I usually spent my time shifting my weight from foot to foot or holding a door for someone or writing names on a piece of paper. So not that hard.

I said the petty things every server on the planet has been heard to say a time or two. Like, “There’s got be an IQ maximum to work as a hostess.” (Oh, har.) I mean, how hard could it be to walk people to their tables. It’s not rocket science to seat servers in rotation. As a host you put up with a bit of attitude about wait times, fend off a few exasperated sighs, but after 20 minutes those rude customers are someone else’s problem. As a host at least your wage doesn’t depend on a guests’ appraisal of how well you do your job.

Let me be the first to offer a sincere apology to every hostess I’ve ever said a foul word about. I, a bitter old waitress, am sorry to any member of any host staff I may have slighted or underestimated in any way. Now that I have found myself working as a host three days a week I fully empathize with your plight. I really had absolutely no idea.
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