Personal Essay: You and Systems - Ari Burstein

Ari Burstein

English: Ms. Pahomov

Gold Stream

E-Band

September 21, 2018

Word Count: 688

Beep Beep, Beep Beep. Beep Beep, Beep Beep. I turn off my alarm and slowly roll out of bed. Nine o’clock is too early to be getting up on a summer morning, I think to myself as I pull up my black jeans. I go to the bathroom and splash my face with water. I get ready quickly, and I’m out the door by 9:35. I unlock my bike and get ready to head towards 19th and Market, where I will be working for the summer. Marathon Grill. I wonder what it will be like as I begin my three-and-a-half mile trek from West Philly.  

I am full of excitement as I try and anticipate the day ahead of me. Although being a busboy isn’t the most glorious job, it will be a good learning experience for me, as well as a way to make some money. I can’t wait.

I get to my Marathon Grill at 9:53 A.M.; 7 minutes early. I take a few moments debating whether or not I should go in early and decide I should. As I walk in, I sense the other employees notice my aura of nervousness.

“Are you Ari?” an older woman says from the Employees Only door.

“Yes,” I reply uneasily.

“Hi, I’m Cheryl. Have you ever worked in a restaurant before?” she says as she hands me a black shirt with a neon green M on it, the Marathon Grill Logo.

“I have not,” I respond unsure of what this would mean for me.

“Poppa,” the woman yells into the kitchen, “I need you to train someone.”

A few seconds later a burly man comes out. He is about 6’1 with a trimmed beard and dark skin. I shake his hand. It is rough, calloused by many years of manual labor.

“My name is Poppa,” he says with a thick Haitian accent, “In the next hour, I am going to train you to be a busboy.”

The next hour consisted of me following Poppa around and learning about the tasks that were required of me and how to do them. I changed the trash bags, filled up each serving station with ice, wiped down tables, and cleared dishes. By 11:00 I had a pretty solid understanding of my role in the restaurant. Now I am ready to go off on my own.

“You will be in charge of bussing the outdoor tables and keeping them clean,” Poppa says.

I nod at him and prepare for the onrush of lunch customers. I walk around, inspecting each table to make sure they are clean. I walk back to the bussing station as the flow of people starts to increase.

The day goes on, and I do my job well. I am amazed by how smoothly everything runs, from the kitchen, to the food-runners, to the waiters, and finally to the busboys. Everyone has a role to play. Two o’clock comes by. I clock-out and begin to bike home.

When I get home I take a long, hot shower. Warm water rolls slowly down my tired body. I feel relaxed. After the shower, I go to my room to watch American Horror Story.

“Ari,” I hear someone saying faintly, “Ari, wake up.”

I open my eyes to see my dad standing over me. I must have fallen asleep.

“What time is it?” I ask my dad in a flustered manner.

“It’s almost six o’clock,” he replies. “It’s time for dinner. We’re going to SangKee.”

We get to SangKee and are seated rather quickly. However, I can’t help but look at the restaurant with a different perspective. I watch the waiters taking orders and the runners taking food out from the kitchen. I see the hostess seating people and the busboys clearing tables. I now have a greater appreciation for those who I took for granted before.

We finish our meal, and my father gets the check. As we begin to leave, I get $3 from my pocket and leave it on the table.