Giving Up The Ghost

I quit another dead-end waitressing job recently. I won't go into the ugly details, mostly because the "how" and "why" of my resignation are boring and inconsequential for anyone, save myself and ex-employer. No, what I'm concerned with is the aftermath.

There's something strange that happens after a person has been somewhere, been with someone, done something or lost something that has always been there. It's part disorientation, part longing and part masochistic obsession with what once was. The closest parallel I can draw is that of the phantom limb syndrome. Medical dictionaries describe it as: "The perception of sensations, usually including pain, in an arm or leg after the limb has been amputated. The brain still gets messages from the nerves that originally carried impulses from the missing limb."

I've been waitressing for nearly ten years, and now, in the aftermath, I find myself missing the mind-numbing ease of serving food and drink to strangers. I went out for lunch today, with a friend. I anticipated our server's questions, answering them before they were asked. I felt a curious resentment as I watched her move around the dining room, conversing with her customers, clearing empty plates and collecting billfolds. I observed her patterns, like a scientist, trying to gauge her mood while knowing how I would feel, if I had been in her position. I actually felt envy.

I understand that a person's job isn't definitive of who they are, yet there is something to be said for those who do their jobs well, and damnit, I was a good waitress. I feel like I lost something integral to who I am. Nothing as dramatic as an arm or leg or pinky toe, but something solid nonetheless.

I'm giving up the ghost. I'm forgetting the phantom limb that never should have existed. At this moment, I am envisioning my "career" (snort) as a waitress as a massive tentacle that was attached to my head; superfluous, ugly, ridiculous and barely useful. I am cutting off that phantom limb. And now, I'm selling it to a restaurant that will chop it up, steam it, and serve it with a side of pickled seaweed sauce. Hell, as long as I'm not serving it, someone else can choke it down.