As of today, the fourth of July, I have officially been a waiter for one week. After three days of training I swindled my way into getting a solo dinner shift last Thursday and have since been presenting diners with giant plates of pasta in return for big wads of cash. I should have gotten into this earlier.

Although I would much rather end up in the kitchen than in the front of the house, coming home every night with cash in your pocket it a great feeling. Also, there is absolutely no way I could survive in a professional kitchen right now; it is absolutely insane in there during the rush. However, despite the heat, puddles of sauces and frantic, Spanish chaos, I linger in the kitchen whenever I have the chance. As an added bonus, I’ve ended up making a few friends. A few of the guys invited me out to play futbol with them this morning at 8am in the local park. Although none of them ever showed up—bromas, bromas!—I am still flattered. ¡Oye!

I found this article pretty interesting. Times critic Frank Bruni took a week to turn the tables and spend time serving critical old cranks instead of being one. Use it as a reminder to tip those folks taking care of you in the service industry.