I literally hate being single so much. I’m not ashamed to admit it anymore.

There, I have finally said it. I’m tired of going home to my empty apartment after my shift, tired of eating alone, waking up on weekends with no one beside me and wondering if I would ever find someone. Suppose it’ll ever be my turn. And worst of all, I hate pretending that I’m okay with all of this and that this is for the best of myself.

A few weeks ago, I was talking to my friend Priya during a very dull afternoon at the diner. She’s an Indian, and she has recently got married. She told me about how she found her husband through an Indian matrimonial site and not some cheesy college romance. I had no idea such sites existed outside the rom-com world.

What I found out afterwards was even more shocking!!
In India, these sites are huge. And there aren’t any dating sites; these are caste-based ones specific to the community. She used a Mudaliyar matrimony site. Two families connect, profiles are matched, and exchanging conversations later, she is engaged. Six months after that, she’s happily married and already talking about kids. At first, I was skeptical. It all sounded very arranged. But the more she shared her experience, the more it started to make sense. It was not about romance or picture-perfect proposals; it was about finding the one who shares the same values, has a similar background as you, and wants to build a life: no endless texting, ghosting, or dating app fatigue.

Meanwhile, here I am, getting hit on by random customers at work and trying to pretend I’m not lonely every time I see a family walk in and settle at a booth with their toddler in tow. I want that life. I like the mess, the love, the chaos of being a wife, a mom, a partner. I want someone to come home to, someone to build a future with.

I know marriage and motherhood aren’t easy. I’ve seen the stress, the exhaustion, the tears. But I’ve also seen the joy. The kind of joy that doesn’t come from scrolling aimlessly through dating apps or sleeping in on a Sunday alone.

I dont think there’s any matrimonial site for my background, but I wish I had something or someone to ground me down. Because being single isn’t freedom anymore; it’s just lonely.

And I can’t wait for life to surprise me with someone.

TV shows love the “quirky waitress” trope. That she’s always cute, has the perfect hair despite working double shifts, and she spends half of her time casually chatting with customers. They demonstrate how servers maintain a calm attitude; they carry trays as if they are weightless and never break a sweat, always having the time for drama, romance and wise life advice.

Let me tell you something;

That’s not real.

It’s nothing close to real-life waitressing. In real life, your back starts hurting by the third hour; your feet are on fire, and you’re running table to table with frenzied hair, a stained apron and a notebook full of scribbles, which is hard to comprehend. You’ve already apologized four times for things that aren’t your fault, like the kitchen forgetting to make something gluten-free or a toddler throwing ketchup at the wall.

There’s no like some slow-motion romantic glance across the room. What really does happen is you lock eyes with a customer who wants to pay the bill while your hands are full with three plates, and someone else is asking you for more ranch dressing. And you do it all over again.

Waitressing isn’t glamorous; it’s more of physical labour and emotional labour. You are on your feet the whole day, memorizing orders, trying to remember faces and dealing with rude customers all day long. You gotta keep the smile coming through, or the other customers will call it a bad attitude. You get to deal with messy kids who run around the diner, awkward first dates, loud family dinners and the occasional table that doesn’t tip after running you ragged. And there’s no music montage while you clean up a spilt soda, just a sigh, a mop, and cold, wet socks for the next hour.

And about having any conversations with the regulars? Nah, you get like twenty seconds of small talk before somebody shouts out of the kitchen to pick up the order.

Real waitressing has something that the TV versions often miss: grit. Actual moments of kindness from strangers, a lot of messed up hair, stained apron and the quiet satisfaction of handling chaos like a pro. We dont lean over the counters giving life advice like in the sitcoms, but we keep the place running all day long.

It’s not always as glittery as cute uniforms at the coffee shops; it’s more about showing up, grinding through the day and serving some really delicious food. Finding joy in the mess is all that it is. It’s real and worth it at the end of the day.

Being a waitress is not always as easy and fancy as you think it is. It takes a toll on life, and you start to question everything when someone is rude to you. But one of the most unexpected joys of this job is the kids. Seriously, I love it when these small little creatures walk in and are filled with energy. There’s something about interacting with kids that makes life seem fun, lighter and vibrant. Although many of my coworkers dread seeing a high chair coming out, I silently light up, knowing that there’s a kid here.

What I love the most about kids is that they’re honest, brutally honest and unfiltered. They dont care if the restaurant is packed or that I’m juggling five tables; they want to proudly show me the drawing that they do and ask me if I have seen the most unusual animal, which I had no idea existed. I so love that energy; it’s real and refreshing. It helps us break from the busy routine we have and makes us appreciate the small things in life.

Every Sunday, this little girl comes in with her parents, and she always has the same order, ” pancakes with extra happiness”, which puts a huge smile on my face. I sprinkle a few more chocolate chips than usual, and she lights up like I handed her gold. Her smile is worth more than a tip sometimes. But always worth the effort. Sometimes, the kids play pretend. One boy gave me a rock once and said it was “payment.” I pretended to scan it and thanked him for his generous tip. His mom laughed so hard that she did leave a generous tip. Win-win.

And, of course, not every child is so easy and calm. There are so many who throw tantrums not to eat and spill a drink all around the place while screaming at the top of their voices. But even then, I try to remind myself that this is a whole new world for them, and they are just beginning their life here. Restaurants feel like adventures: big chairs, new foods, shiny spoons, busy grown-ups. If I can make their visit fun, I’ve done something good.

Sometimes, the most amazing part about kids is that they see me, the real true me, not the waitress in the uniform serving them delicious food. Adults can be polite or dismissive or completely ignore me. But kids? Kids ask me my name, tell me their favorite animal, or ask if I have a dog. They look you right in the eye and treat you like a person. That makes you feel visible and heard in this busy world. You think at least a kid wants to know what’s happening in my life; You’re relieved in that sense.

It brings back my hope that in the fast-paced life that we live today, there’s always some room for connection, laughter and a little magic. Most of this comes from a random kid who’s colouring outside the lines of the book, waiting for chicken nuggets, which gets to me every time.

I get to see people at their best and worst; being a waitress means you get to look at situations you don’t want to. Birthdays, anniversaries, first dates, breakups, you name it, I’ve served it with a side of fries. But the most uncomfortable part of the job is seeing couples start to fight, loud and visibly, like nobody around them exists, and they can’t get over that one incident. It’s frustrating because you can’t do anything about it or ask them to leave, so you’re just stuck wondering when to interrupt them to ask for their order.

It usually starts small, a cold silence between both of them while walking into the restaurant and later on, one person is scrolling while the other stares at their water glass. I can always sense the tension before I walk over, and I’ll start with, “Can I get you started with some drinks?” and get back a tight, fake smile and a taunting tone of “Sure, I guess hell have a beer if he can put his phone down”. That’s when I know it’s one of those tables that are going to start an argument with each other.

Sometimes, it’s whispered arguments, others are the kind where they lean forward and hiss at each other, pretending nothing is wrong. A few others start with finger pointing and yelling. I once had to box up a full steak dinner because the guy left in the middle of the main course. His girlfriend sat there crying into her wine. I felt like I was intruding on something I never signed up for.

And then I have to pretend as if none of this happened and go to their table with a smile, fill the water and ask, “Did you want dessert?” while one of them blinks back tears and the other is about to explode. sometimes I want to say, “Hey, maybe this isn’t the best time for crème brûlée?” But of course, I don’t. I do my job and try not to get caught in the emotional crossfire.

What is wilder is how quickly some of them recover. I have seen couples go from yelling at each other to giggling over dessert in just 10 minutes as if I am the one imagining the whole thing. Others leave separately, slamming the door behind them.

Working in a restaurant teaches you so much every day. Love isn’t always roses and happiness; it’s sometimes messy, unpredictable and painful. It’s not my place to judge, but this: if you know you are about to have an entire meltdown over dinner, consider ordering in, just for your sake or mine.

Working as a waitress is mostly about carrying plates, remembering orders, and sometimes faking smiles for tips. I love every part of this job, except how relentlessly guys hit on you and how nobody warns you about it. It’s not flirting; there’s no polite asking; it’s straight-up hitting on. I’m talking about the full-on, boundary-crossing, won’t-take-a-hint kind of attention that comes with just doing my job.

It begins with a smile, and I can’t help but smile back because if I do, someone is going to complain that I’m rude or unfriendly. But for some guys, that smile is an open invitation. A huge reason for them to think I’m into them. And then suddenly, I’m getting comments like, “You have a beautiful smile; bet your boyfriend’s lucky.” Or “Are you on the menu?” Yeah. Really.

Then come the numbers. Slipped in with the check, scrawled across napkins, whispered as I’m reaching over to clear a glass. “You should call me sometime.” I never do. But that doesn’t stop them.

Sometimes it’s subtle. But what gets to me is how often it happens; they dont let go of any opportunity presented to them. There are a few times it gets to the point where guys won’t take “I’m working” as a serious reason to stop talking. They keep asking personal questions like they’re entitled to my story. Who waits outside after my shift? One even asked my coworker what time I leave every night. That one scared me.

I wish more and more people understood the difference between kindness and consent. Just because I’m polite and smile doesn’t mean I’m interested. Just because I laughed at some joke you said doesn’t mean you can have my number. I work on my feet for hours, hustling for the little tips, and I’m trying to make a living. I am not here looking for a date

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying all men do this. Some are genuinely respectful. Some tip well, say thank you and leave. Bless them. But enough don’t. Enough cross the line that I’ve learned to keep my guard up even while pouring coffee or asking, “How’s everything tasting?”

So if you’re ever at a restaurant and you think your waitress is cute, remember: she’s at work. You’re a customer. Let her do her job. And if you must leave a number, at least accept that silence is your answer. And tip well.

It takes people aback when I say I like being a waitress. Many of them assume that I’m doing this just to fill in time or wait for something better to come along. As if this is just a stepping stone into a real job, not a real job. But honestly, I’m so happy here.

One main reason why I enjoy this job is because it doesn’t demand heavy mental work. I’m free from being glued to the screen all day; I’m not stuck in endless meetings trying to sound smart. I dont have to hit quarterly targets or pretend that I care about reports. I show up, I work as hard as I can, and I go home; that’s it. There is simplicity in this work; I know my schedule. I seat people, take orders, deliver food, clear the plates, smile, and repeat. It’s physical, it’s demanding, but it’s worth it. It keeps me active and moving; I can work in his environment without being stressed about peer pressure or analysis paralysis. On many days, it’s a gift that I need not take my work back home with me.

And yes, of course, every work comes with some exhaustion. My legs hurt after a long shift, sometimes customers are rude, and sometimes the kitchens are behind, and everything gets chaotic. But even in the middle of the dinner rush, I dont feel mentally drained the way I did at my corporate job. I used to sit in front of a screen for eight hours pretending to care about emails I barely understood.

My work is straightforward. I don’t need to strategize, build plans, or climb any ladders to get better at it. I just need to show up, look presentable, and be polite. The best part is I sleep better with this job than I did with my previous one. My mind is relaxed at night because there is no work-related stress that keeps me up. I dont dread Mondays, nor do I have to optimize myself. I just come to the diner, do my work, and get home. Simple as that.

So yeah, this job isn’t glamorous. It may not be something you brag about during a reunion, but it keeps me grounded and human. It pays my bills and keeps me sane, and for now, that’s more than enough.

As a waitress, people rarely notice me, but I’m always there refilling water, taking someone’s order, or just greeting people with a smile. This job comes closer to people’s lives than you want to. You had over the checks to someone just when their hearts got broken. You serve dessert to a couple marking 50 years together. You are not essentially a part of their story, but you are there for them while life unfolds one table at a time.

This is a part of the job, being there when they need you and going when they dont. I get to notice everything. I see the first date nerves; I know the dad who checks on his phone instead of talking to his daughter. I know the regular who always sits alone but tips like he’s feeding a family. I get to see so many different versions of people around, and I can’t help but imagine how much each one of them must be going through in their life. And so many times, I feel sorry for the ones who come in alone and are drowning in their thoughts.

I work at a mid-tier family restaurant, nothing too fancy or sophisticated. The booths here squeak, the coffee is just okay, and the menu is laminated enough times to survive the flood. But the stories here I’ve seen? Many times better than the Netflix series.

When you work, you learn how to be your best even when the job is demanding. I’ve learned to fake a smile when my feet are throbbing. How calm down when my boss gets on my nerves. To swap out the dishes because there’s a fly on it or because someone forgot to mention they need the gluten-free version. I’ve learned how people treat you like a servant just because you serve food at a booth; it’s not fair or humane. But thankfully, there are some who do have kindness and care toward everyone they meet.

It’s the quiet solidarity that keeps me going more than the tips. The little moments in the day when the cook sneaks me some fries on a rough day, or the dishwasher sings badly to make everyone laugh, or the other waitresses know precisely how hard it is and never judge. This job isn’t glamorous. It’s messy and loud and unforgiving. But there’s something honest about it. It’s real work. And at the end of the night, when the chairs are up and the lights are low, I feel proud of surviving another shift.

So the next time you see a waitress, remember that she’s just a human being like you. Not some girl that takes down orders or wants to be ordered around. Just act with kindness and compassion to anyone trying to do their job, just like how you would like to be treated.

I had heard that at least once in life, we should work in customer service. I used to roll my eyes on that advice, but now I live in it, and it teaches you more about life than any other profession. My name is not essential, nor is the name of the diner I work for; what matters is how you can balance being on your feet for eight hours, carrying hot plates and fake smiles.

I started waitressing because I needed the money for my college bills, rent, groceries, etc. The job seemed much simpler on the outside, take orders, bring food, smile, and repeat. I thought about how there’s is a rhythm to it, an unspoken choreography you only learn with time. You learn to read a table the moment you walk in, who wants chat, who wants silence, and whether they are going to tip well or just blame you for the cook’s mistake.

There are both good and bad days, like any other job. Sometimes, regulars ask about your weekends, coworkers become good friends, and the occasional customer leaves a generous tip just because. Then there are the bad days; the double shifts, rude behaviors, and this one time someone shouted at me because their eggs were too yellow, which I still think is weird.

But the most challenging part? Wearing the mask. You could be going through hell in your personal life, but out on the floor, you’re “Hi! Welcome in!” with a grin. You can’t afford to break down. You’ve got four tables waiting for coffee refills. Yet, there’s a weird pride in it. In surviving the chaos. In remembering complicated orders without writing them down. In handling a 12-top solo and still managing a smile.

Waitressing has taught me more about people than any class I have taken; it taught me how to listen, how to handle bad behavior, and how to stay calm when things are falling apart. I found it to be very humbling, exhausting, and oddly satisfying.

So the next time you dine out, be a little nice to the people serving you, it’ll make things better for them.