volume forty-three

waiting

The sound of the heavy rubber sole of my doc martins on the hollow metal staircase is familiar, clanging in echo as I descend towards the basement. As I pull open the glass doors and pull back the metal cage security gate, announcing my presence in song, the smell of fried food and beer fills my nostrils. This smell, this sound, this dim light, this Saturday afternoon not-yet-open ringing of my voice as it bounces out of empty booths and this uniformed t-shirt displaying the logo loud and proud are one of the most friendly to me of my Canadian memories.

I remember the first time I stepped into the restaurant, a fresh arrival in Vancouver, with just one year of Canada under my belt — one year into what would unknowingly become a life built. One year just spent on one coast that was supposed to be my one year abroad before returning home to Australia. One year that turned into two, because it made sense to use my whole work permit, and spend the second year across the country.

After one year, I left the bitter November cold of Halifax that cut through to my bones — tearily farewelling some of the best friends I have ever known still to this day — left the snow teasing its return, ready to fill up to my knees and arrived in the warmer, muggier, wet, rainy grey of Vancouver. I arrived as a baby still. A young woman convinced she was on a working holiday and not clearly creating a life for herself. A young woman who stayed up late, slept away a lot of the day, worked harder than she needed to in order to keep up with her lifestyle, ate most meals at ungodly hours and knew how much money could be made serving in North America in tips. Rent money, drinking money, cab money, partying money.

I learned about this Australian pub (“but it is a restaurant in regards to the liquor licence, Lauren”) from a friend who suggested I look at working there. That was almost seven years ago. My time there was often, and busy and for long periods of time during the peak holiday season full of company holiday parties from the highrise buildings that surrounded us, and end of year get-togethers maxing out the capacity of the restaurant to a questionable number that we never argued when our paychecks and tips landed in our consumerist hands. That period of time was spent during a wet winter, shielded from the elements in the depths of the basement, topping up buffets and encouraging karaoke singers and joining in on rounds of shots offered by delighted customers, all in the comfort of somewhere that felt like home. It was exhausting. It was my way to make rent and support my lifestyle but never a long term plan.

Then as I had so effortlessly planned, it faded out as my career took off. Slowly but surely I stepped away, returning here and there to help out on busy shifts, or when I wanted extra money for a vacation I was saving for. Gradually it became that I wasn’t there at all. A ghost that used to do this job with her eyes closed. Then a new vacation would come up, or bills would creep in and I was there again, maybe once a week or twice a month. Then once I got what I needed, I was gone again, as quickly as possible, making sure to leave before anyone could assume this was a part of who I was. This cycle repeated until one day it was permanent. Leaving the job, leaving the city, leaving to begin my next chapter in my dream job in a new province, with a fresh start and an affordable apartment and an exciting paycheck. Stepping away, telling myself — and anyone who might hear it — that this was my last ever serving shift, I had finally made it. How bitter-sweet. Mostly sweet. You see because, in my naivety, I knew I had finally worked hard enough* to never need to wear a uniform again, to never smile through gritted teeth at rude customers, to never show up on shift not knowing what time I would get out that day, to never work a schedule so chaotic from one week to the next unless it was on my terms. I knew I no longer needed to waitress in order to gather healthy tips to pocket and survive — let alone thrive— in a city so expensive to live in, despite already having a full-time job. I thought I was hanging up my apron forever and that my future visits there would be that of leisure.

And they could have been.

As most of you know who have read this digital journal for a while, the new career, new city, new paycheck, and new chapter didn’t quite work out as I planned.

Instead, it worked out exactly as it was supposed to.

Now I have three wonderful, exciting, varied freelance jobs on the go as I descend the clanging staircase to my fourth. The feeling of necessity and dread has gone. A wave of excitement overcomes me as I welcome the idea of chatting with strangers, building a relationship and being their single-serve friend for the evening. So much has changed since I was here over two years ago yet the warm smile of the owner — my friend — still greets me. Her grumpy ex-husband who runs the kitchen still questions my every move. The new-to-me staff reflect those of the seven-year rotating door of working holidayers I am friendly with, cracking jokes, bonding over homesickness and exchanging backstories. The house-made veggie burger with no onion, added mushrooms and side of hot chips and vinegar tastes exactly as it did seven years ago. It tastes like home. My Canada home. I am home here.

back to serving necessities

My time serving has fluctuated over the years and I used to be so ashamed of it, quickly telling people it was for extra cash to save for [insert vacation or planned trip home or exciting shiny thing I no longer own here] so I could “really enjoy myself while away”. Of course implying being able to afford it otherwise, just maybe not in an “I have money to throw around” way — which was a lie. Or even more of a stretch, I would more lean on the fact that the restaurant needed me as they were understaffed, implying there was nothing in it for me and I am doing them a favour by being here.

Ugh, younger Lauren, one day you will care far less about what people think of you and you will live your truth and you will be so happy, and have far more energy not having spent it all trying to appear a certain way.

So last weekend, as my docs and I nosedived into the basement away from the world for the next nine hours I was excited and proud. I was present knowing am living my life with the balance and direction I desire. I am using all of my people skills, multitasking skills, problem-solving skills and task-orientated skills to make a decent paycheck, one like I was securing in my ‘dream’ job. But instead, I am on my feet and not in a downtown office building. I am chatting with real people and not with a computer screen. I am making people’s days, I am making new friends and I am upselling without trying, just because people want to linger a little longer with me. I am creating birthday memories, first time eating Aussie food memories, first time in Vancouver memories and first date memories. I am really good at this — it’s social, it gets me out of the house, it surrounds me with friends and variety and stories and I can sleep at night knowing I’m not in a career I feel stuck or unhappy in.

I remember saying two years ago, convinced that I was only going to keep rising in my career, that this was my last serving shift ever. I said that with pride and excitement and honestly, in vanity and superiority. I am so glad I was wrong.

I love you,

Lauren xoxo

*Cue the now extremely obvious to me awareness that people in uniforms — medical staff, cashiers, servers, flight crew, hotel staff, firemen, kitchen staff — are all beyond hard-working.

Three things I struggled with this week:

• 🎮 On a flight this week, I was surrounded by children who clearly aren’t used to flying. They pointed and whispered that I’m on the same row as them, which honestly made me feel like a LOSER. Haha. They had no spacial awareness or courtesy skills established just yet, one even pretending not to hear me as I asked to get by for the washroom and instead kept playing their video game. The seatbelt sign came on so I never made it to pee. You better believe I made sure they heard me once that light went off forty-five minutes later.

• 🥤 A bit of a weird moment that I didn’t think would rattle me but of course, it would. A customer at the restaurant wanted to buy me a shot and as I had spent the whole night recommending cocktails and specialty shooters to her table when asked, rather than bore her with the fact that I am in AA, I automatically accepted. I had the bartender mix me up a shot to resemble hers made from ginger beer and cranberry juice, getting the colour just right. The act of cheers-ing and tilting my head back, lips to a mini glass of what should have been poison to me, was eerie and uncomfortable.

• 🥲The heartbreak of trying to be a people pleaser when the person literally couldn’t care less about me. Thankful for those in my life that make sure I am taking care of myself. 

Three blessings from this week:

• 🤠 I was away in Dallas this week for work. Is this my life? Warm days, excellent company, smiling faces, fancy resort, kind strangers, team dinners, comfy bed, delightful locals. I don’t know if Dallas would have ever been on my travel bucket list, but what a treat to be here and experience some countryside I might have never known I would be delighted by otherwise.

• ✅ Meeting other people who also work 3 to 4 to 5 freelance jobs, and they couldn’t be happier. I am so grateful for the life I am creating for myself. Keeping things exciting is… well… exciting!

• 🏩 Something I am realising since leaving my sanctuary in Montreal and selling off all of my possessions: I can be so at home on the road, renting a room, housesitting, in good company. Home to me is within now.

Three goals for the coming week:

• 🎨 Take on that scheduling in of play that I mentioned in a previous volume. The next few weeks are work heavy and it is all very exciting stuff, but as well as the rest that I know I will give myself, I want to make sure I play too.

• 🏡 Enjoy some family dinners, at least once a week, with my beautiful roommates.

• 📆 Make time to see those friends I haven’t yet had the chance to since I got back to the West Coast, but make sure I do not burn myself out trying to do it. Remind myself that I can reach out, let them know I am thinking of them and plan ahead if that is what I need to do. The same goes for calling family back home that I have slowed on since being on the road a lot lately. 

What I am enjoying this week: 

One of my favourite humans (and my comedy son) Ola Dada, released his debut stand up comedy album this week: Dada Plan. This is the first of many albums he will bring out and one of many incredible accomplishments he has already achieved in what will be a lifetime career in comedy. I have had the pleasure of knowing him since he first started going up on open mics and was a regular at the one I once ran. He is the most hard-working comedian I know and he is so incredibly talented. Give the album a listen. I am a proud Mumma this week.

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