Photo: Rob J. Brooks, Flickr
When I was applying for my first waitress job, my total lack of experience qualified me to work at two types of places: Coney Islands, the Greek diner/chili parlor mash-ups that are ubiquitous in southeast Michigan, and family dining chains clustered around highway exits. I opted for the former, mostly so I wouldn't have to sing.
I haven't visited a Lone Star Steakhouse since the mid-1990s, but the restaurant's original shtick included a server-led birthday boot scoot that involved way more coordination and tune-carrying than I could possibly muster. Even if I'd been blessed with Ethel Merman's pipes, I'm not sure I'd have been any more gung-ho about breaking out in birthday song: The whole routine seemed designed to shame the staff and mortify the celebrant.









