Samuel Yeoh

The past few days have been quite emo for me. I nearly broke down a few times doing almost nothing at all, like wiping cutlery or arranging menus. It’s funny what the mind does when you have too much time to think, and too little things to occupy yourself with.

A lot of thoughts have been running through my head, why I am where I am now, and where I want to be headed. And watching all those people coming in and out of the coffee outlet can set some really unhealthy thoughts for the hyperactive mind. In that mess of nameless faces and uncountable futures, I find myself searching, thrashing around for some sort of meaning. Meaning to their lives, and meaning to mine.

What does it mean to come in for a cup of coffee in the middle of the day, slightly after lunch hour, dress in impeccable business clothes? A cushy worklife that ends at 3pm in the afternoon, or a life of boredom without a sense of purpose?

What does it mean to serve cup after cup of coffee to people who spit in your face and use their wads of cash to buy rights to throw tantrums at you? An undignified servant to the rich’s whims and fancies, or a proud professional unfazed by the customers’ childish behaviours?

I watch the people sipping their coffee and wonder how they ended up on the receiving end of the cuppa, while I watch and wonder about the fates that brought the rest of us to serve them. They with their 50 dollar bills and countless credit cards, we with our 5 dollar an hour pay and 4 dollar lunch monies. And I wonder if these two worlds will remain almost always separate, like two bubbles touching each other but never merging into one.

‘What drinks would you recommend?’ A curious customer would ask. And mechanically,  I would recommend something I’ve seen a dozen customers order. The one who could afford to try anything would ask advice from the one who would have to sacrifice half a day’s salary to give an honest opinion.

The irony.

So we pander to the rich or the richer, eager to please with excellent service while we earn our meager keeps. A mini hierarchy of sorts, the modern day caste of the 21st century. Sure, it is a mask that one sheds when we remove our uniforms and return home, the role of master and servant easily reversed by visiting another store. We pass on the baton, spreading our misery to others.

That said, today I got my first written feedback from a customer. ‘Attentive and customer-oriented.’ I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry, happy to have served well or sad to have grown into the uniform of the waiter.