Waiting; The True Confessions of a Waitress (36 page)

Untamed Heart
(1993)

Marisa Tomei plays Caroline, a golden-hearted but unlucky-in
love waitress in Minneapolis. When weird busboy Adam (Chris
tian Slater) saves Caroline from being raped by a couple of ruffians, the two develop a sweet but doomed relationship. Adam, alas, is sick, and his ill health truncates their loving rela
tionship. Like every other waitress on film, Caroline is lonely and searching for love. What makes this film sadder than others, though, is that she actually finds some happiness in love for a while, only to lose it.

It Could Happen to Yo u
(1994)

Based on the true tale of a New York policeman who split his lottery winnings with his favorite Yonkers waitress, who helped pick the numbers, the real story is enough of a fairy tale, but this film takes it one step further. Bridget Fonda plays Yvonne, the waitress, who’s been done wrong by her no-good husband (Stan
ley Tucci). He’s charged up her credit cards, forcing her into bankruptcy. Despite a heap of personal trouble, though, she tends to her customers like a ministering angel. Nicolas Cage plays Charlie, the cop with a heart of gold who can’t come up with a tip for her after paying for two cups of coffee. He promises Yvonne a half interest in his lottery ticket if the num

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bers come up, which, of course, they do. Rosie Perez plays Muriel, Charlie’s harpy wife, who is as bad as they are good. She wants all the money, and ultimately, she gets it. Again, it’s love that saves. Even when Charlie and Yvonne lose their fortune, their newfound love for each other buys them both admission into “happily ever after.” (A key point proving that this is obviously fantasy: Yvonne buys the coffee shop when she gets the money, deciding she wants to be a waitress forever. The film gave rise to a question commonly asked of waitresses: “If you won the lot
tery, would you buy this place?” Buy the place? I’d venture to say that most wouldn’t even eat there again.)

Hea vy
(1995)

Aptly titled study of the characters who frequent a dive bar in upstate New York. Overweight introvert Victor (Pruitt Taylor Vince) works as a cook with his mother, Dolly (Shelley Winters), who owns the place, and Delores (Deborah Harry), the slutty, chewed-up waitress. Dolly hires lovely Callie (Liv Tyler) as the new waitress and Victor falls for her on the spot. Truly sweet and good-natured, Callie shows Victor attention and affection, prompting him to fantasize about becoming her savior.

As Good as It Gets
(1997)

Jack Nicholson is Melvin Udall, an obsessive-compulsive writer with several chips on his shoulder. Helen Hunt (who won an Oscar for this role) is Carol the waitress, devoted single mother, all-around nice person, and the only one who will put up with Melvin’s nasty wisecracks at the table. Melvin can’t eat unless Carol serves him, but he soon finds himself needing her for more than breakfast. When he offers his help by arranging med
ical care for her sick son, the fiercely independent Carol reacts
first with wariness and then with gratitude. Ultimately, with the help of Melvin’s gay neighbor Simon (Greg Kinnear), the two embark on an unusual journey into romance.

Over almost three decades, the portrayals of waitresses on film are more striking in their similarities than in their differences. What is most surprising to me, however, is that the characters in the early films seem to have not only a stronger sense of self but a more feminist outlook than those in the later films. Again I feel compelled to qualify: I claim no expertise in the area of feminism. Let’s not forget that I always thought those Playboy bunny outfits were cute and that I longed to live in Barbara Eden’s genie bottle. I’ve never really worried much about what my role was as a woman in modern society. Whether due to circumstance or the nature of my own personality, however, I’ve learned that a certain independence of spirit is as necessary as a strong survival instinct to carve an identity as an individual (and as a woman) and not somebody’s girlfriend, mother, or wife. It was this kind of aware
ness that I expected to see reflected in film characters of the nineties. Instead, these women/waitresses seemed less liberated emotionally and spiritually than their predecessors.

In my mind, there are only a couple of explanations for this shift in view. The first, that the common conception of women in general has now gone back to some Dark Ages prefeminist notion, I dismiss out of hand. The second explanation seems much more reasonable: that our collective vision of the waitress has, in fact, descended into some murky and decidedly unliber
ated depths. To support this view, it is necessary to present a few specifics of these characterizations.

I’ll begin with a quick study of an ever-popular topic: sexual
ity. With very few exceptions, all the waitresses here are intensely sexual beings, bordering, in some cases, on the wanton.

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Rayette, in
Five Easy Pieces,
uses her sexuality to hold Dupeau, assuming quite rightly that this is perhaps her only asset. The title character of
Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore
has no qualms about freely expressing her sexuality, either. Over the course of the film, she’s seen in bed with three different men. Waitresses continue to smoulder on screen with
Frankie and Johnny,
which gives Michelle Pfeiffer’s Frankie the opportunity to redefine passion in a series of sexy scenes with Al Pacino’s Johnny. Nora of
Gas Food Lodging
is imbued with the same easy sexuality. She gives up a long relation
ship with a married man, resigning herself to loneliness in order to set a good example for her daughters, but she is soon under the covers with a new bedmate, offering him a detailed explanation of what pleasures her. The character of Delores in
Heavy
takes this type of sexual ease to its furthest extreme. Used up, bitter, and denounced as a slut, Delores has had an affair with her boss’s hus
band, a few of her customers, and even attempts to seduce the hapless Victor in one of the film’s most uncomfortable scenes.

Even the sweet, fresh waitresses of
Untamed Heart
and
It Could Happen to You
have been around a bit and bring their sexual awareness into their relationships. In the case of
Untamed Heart,
Caroline gently instigates physical contact with the shy, awk
ward Adam. In
It Could Happen to You,
Yvonne is shocked to learn that Charlie has been with only one woman. When their rela
tionship becomes sexual, it is she who takes the lead.

The character of Carol in
As Good as It Gets,
while arguably more complex than others on this list, is given similar attributes. Although this is the only film presented here that is devoid of an actual sex scene, Carol’s sexuality is implicit in her actions and dialogue. After a date early in the film, she is, if not passionate, certainly sexually available, and later she openly laments the lack of physical affection and love in her life.

Finally, there are those sitcom waitresses. The fact that tele
vision won’t allow nudity or scenes of an explicitly sexual nature
matters not when it comes to the portrayal of sexuality in wait
resses. The red-hot passion between Diane and Sam in
Cheers
was one of the series’ strongest draws, and Carla’s numerous lusty encounters were as much a part of her character as her well-aimed verbal barbs. There’s no point in pretending that the waitresses in
Alice
hadn’t been around the block a few times. Their relationships (which were as much a part of the series as their pink uniforms) were all of a decidedly sexual nature. As for the waitresses on
It’s a Living,
the salient memories for those who watched the show mostly involve what the characters wore (little low-cut dresses) and how they looked (all very attractive). The prominent role of piano player Sonny, who consistently tried to score dates with the waitresses, seemed to serve the sole pur
pose of reminding the audience of their sexual appeal.

Sexuality, however, is merely one in a long list of qualities that these imagined waitresses share. Another common theme is that of loneliness and, by extension, the need to be rescued emotionally. In almost every case, the loneliness and attendant need are caused by the absence of a man—which is somewhat ironic given the fact that all of these characters have endured varying measures of abuse at the hands of the men in their lives. Abuse, in fact, seems an incon
trovertible aspect in the lives of these waitresses. Consider the film version of Alice, for example, first married to an abusive husband, then involved with a psychotic suitor. Still, Alice needs a man in her life and will keep pining for him until the right one comes along to rescue her. An even clearer example is found in
Frankie and Johnny.
The physical abuse that Frankie has taken from her ex-mate is so severe it has left her unable to bear children and terrified of rela
tionships. Her fear causes her to distance herself from men despite overwhelming loneliness, yet it is again a man, Johnny, who ulti
mately provides relief and salvation. In fact, despite verbal abuse, no-good husbands, even rape, these women cannot be whole and cannot find personal fulfillment without a man.

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This is not to say that the women portrayed here are not independent. Rather, the opposite is true. Several characters sup
port not only themselves but their children on their tips. They are quite obviously women who work hard and who can take care of themselves physically. Even Rayette of
Five Easy Pieces,
the most emotionally dependent character here, maintains the instincts of a survivor. However, the emotional helplessness present in every one of these waitresses undermines their physical independence and dictates an immutable need to be saved. This notion is per
fectly illustrated in
Heavy,
where Victor’s fantasies of becoming Callie’s savior intrude into his gloomy reality, inspiring him to take steps toward becoming her romantic hero. In turn, Carol’s need and vulnerability force Melvin to become a good man for her sake alone in
As Good As It Gets.
It seems clear that all these waitresses really
need
to be rescued. And in almost every case, the right man ends up coming along just in the nick of time.

If these arguments aren’t convincing enough to elicit a rec
ognizable profile, let me throw a few more common elements into the mix. With the exception of Diane Chambers in
Cheers
(whose character, I might add, was never a very good waitress), the women in these films are largely uneducated. Those waitress uniforms, according to Hollywood, have very blue collars. This is not to say that the women portrayed here are stupid. In fact, they are all possessed of generous street smarts, are able to tire
lessly match wits with any number of smooth-talking customers, always have a quick comeback to any comment, and often have true insight into the human condition. There is not, however, an intellectual in the bunch. Despite her knowledge of his true nature, Rayette is a mental midget compared with Dupeau. Frankie is intimidated by Johnny’s superior intellect. Caroline aspires not to advance her education but to complete beauty school. Even Carol, perhaps the most evolved woman in this group, needs spelling help when she writes Melvin a letter.

The inference can be made that if these women were better educated, they would definitely not be working as waitresses. At the very least, they wouldn’t be working in
these
places, a collection of greasy-spoon diners, dives, and questionable coffee shops. Of course,
It’s a Living
did offer waitresses in the context of a fancy white-tablecloth restaurant, but one has only to look at the series title to ascertain its view of waitressing in general. It is merely a liv
ing. This probably explains why there is such a shortage (in least in what my research has turned up) of waitresses in film who have attended or are attending college, who are simultaneously pursuing other careers, or who have any kind of intellectual life involving more than what’s written on their order pads. A waitress who is not mired in her job due to limited skills and education doesn’t fit the common conception. And although all the waitresses here are looking to get away from their jobs (even in fantasy, nobody wants to consider waitressing a permanent career), their avenue of escape involves the help of a man and not their own resources.