Just like Dorothy I am on a yellow brick road enroute to mysoulsdesire… with a little bit of magic and with the help of angels I am closer to fulffilling my dreams.

I fell in love with restaurants at the age of 13 when I got my first waitressing job.  At the time the love affair was more about being my own boss and not having someone constantly standing over my shoulder glaring at me.

I loved the people I worked with. As the youngest everyone had their turn bossing me around, babying me or simply taking their frustrations out on me. None of it matter, because I was part of a family of people that kept this beast called a restaurant running.

We all had our place and without one part of the whole the machine would break down. This is why I learnt a little bit of everything from making coffee to toasted sandwiches. I think most of the staff were a bit sceptical about my skills, but ended up being pleasantly surprised that I lasted five years in the restaurant business.
Our boss at the time managed the restaurant in the mornings. More like she came in to check that the building was still standing glare at us just because she could and then flounce off to go shopping with her girlfriends.

It fascinated me no end that my boss and her friends could shop every single day of the week (maybe I’m exaggerating a bit, but to my 13 year-old-eyes it felt like every day) and then sit for hours in the smoking section of the restaurant sipping on coffee with fatfree milk. The poor sod that would end up with the bosses table would run rugged for a good five to six hours with no tip at the end of the ordeal.

My next boss 3 years later was pretty similar. She would usually come in to open the restaurant until she figured out that that the manager yours trully could do that on her behalf. She would usually grace us with her presence for Sunday lunch with her family. The meal and drinks total would amount to R600. At the time it was a lot of money and as waiters who worked on commission it was a substantial amount, but behold the poor sod who would end up serving the bosses table would not get commission on the huge bill never mind a tip.

So you can imagine how all the waiters would take cover when the boss and her entrouge arrived.

It was great. The bosses were a boundless source of entertainment and mirth for the waiters on days that the restaurants weren’t busy. We would discuss the bosses worth, question some of their decisions and tell each other what we would do differently if we were running the show. Come to think of it I’m still doing that only difference is that I am working for a large corporation that could chew me and spit me out in seconds. 

As a waitress I had grand ideas on  how the service could be made faster, what worked and what didn’t, what my clients liked and what they didn’t like. I knew it all. All I needed was just a little opportunity and I could show these ladies how it could be done.

A number of years and a couple of decades later the restaurant bite is still festering and niggly. As an adult owning my own restaurant represents the freedom to run my own schedule, offer work to people who would otherwise end up either jobless or as unskilled labour, and having a place where people can come to not only enjoy a great meal but to sit down unwind, daydream, meet new people and maybe get advise on life’s many mysteries from the restaurant owner (Yes I do mean yours truly).

A restaurant to me is an experience. From inviting someone to go enjoy a new establishment or the one place that serves the most decadent caramel cake on this side of the equator, arriving being shown to your table, engaging with the waiter and having the best conversation over the best meal. Being in a restaurant should feel like coming home minus the admin of doing things yourself.

Owning a restaurant is the dream of a 13 year-old scrawny girl. This blog is the first step in making her dream come true. Day 1 of 30 day challenge complete.