As a kid, nothing made me more anxious than having to go door-to-door to sell something for school. Although I’ve always been outgoing, any latent trace of shyness would spread like a rash over me. In fact, I’m sure I got hives when I had to walk across the road to get a cup of sugar for my mom. It didn’t matter that I knew my neighbors — and more than likely spent the day before playing in the fields of Ruth and Frank’s farm — but to ask for something from them put me over the edge. I dropped out of Girl Scouts because I hated selling cookies, even though I loved everything else in scouting, especially the campouts.
Visiting the neighbors was very much part of my childhood routine. My younger brother and I would ride our bikes up and down the old, slow country roads, looking for playmates. My dad always had some sort of building project happening after his long days working road construction, so it wasn’t unusual to see a neighbor’s pickup in our dirt drive after dinner, hammers echoing in the distance. There wasn’t really anything strange or exotic about my childhood, so I can’t really explain why I was terrified to ask if my neighbors wanted to buy tins of popcorn for a fundraiser.
This is a curious background for someone who has spent a lot of her life in sales in some shape or form. I’m still not in any rush to knock on doors, but I believe my time spent in restaurants helped me overcome this fear. Working in food, be it a restaurant or corner sandwich shop is often considered unskilled labor, a charge I very much disagree with.
There is both skill and art in working in food service. Although it’s hectic, grueling, and customers can be demeaning, there is also an electric, dynamic atmosphere. It’s exciting.
I learned to quell those nerves when I approached a table that I could already tell was in a sour mood, because the outcome of the dining experience depended very heavily upon me. I couldn’t race back to my dad’s truck or hide from my mother when tasked with the neighborhood ask. To get paid, hope for a decent tip, and not get fired depending on how quickly I moved, thought, and reacted. And not just with one table, but an entire section and beyond the customers, then there’s dealing with the kitchen that requires negotiation skills that would impress world leaders.
I spend a lot of time thinking about work and how it shapes our lives. How we come into contact with the work of others, each and every day. How it gives lives meaning, how it can break us. How we want and expect certain professions to be highly skilled — like doctors — but we’re often too quick to judge others who clean, cook, or care. After all, we’re all humans trying to do a job, trying to quell whatever nerves and fears we have as we move about the world.
Maggie Doherty is a writer and book reviewer who lives in Kalispell with her family.