Tag Archives: Working in Sardinia

31 Days as a Beach Bar Waitress – Sardinia, Italy

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Jennifer Avventura My Sardinian Life Expat WaitressThe long hot hours of work are finally over and I’m looking forward to catching up on lost sleep. Everyday I worked 12pm – 9pm without a day off, as that’s how the cookie crumbles in Sardinia. At times, it was difficult to keep the smile on my face and more often than not I wanted to sucker punch a few guests in the face for stupid remarks. Overall, it was a beautiful whirlwind working at the lovely beach bar Mistral Bar at La Marinedda beach. I met some fantastic people who quickly became friends and I saw 31 stunning sunsets worthy of a painted picture.

Here is a little list of what I endured in the 31 days as a Beach Bar Waitress

  • “Do you live here?” Me: No, I fly in from Canada every morning. Ryanair now offers a direct flight from Alghero to Niagara Falls.
  • “Where are you from?” Me: You have to guess. Guest: Finland, Denmark, Australia, South Africa, England, Bulgaria, Holland, Ireland, Scotland, America … (they never, ever guess Canada).
  • “Why are you here?” Me: I hit the love jackpot.
  • “Wow, what sport do you do? You’re very fit.” Me: I serve drinks all day to idiots like you.
  • “Where are you from?” Me: I’m from Canada. Guest: Oh, you sound American.
  • “Excuse me? But why is the beach half of what it was last year? Did the sea eat the beach?” Me: (mouth hanging open) Uh, yeah, the sea was very hungry this year.
  • A woman walks into a beach bar full of guests eating lunch. She stands naked but for the small g-string attached to her curvy hips and she just stands there… her fake mountainous cleavage obscuring the view of the diners.
  • Three men from Napoli sit down and ask for three beers. When they have finished the first round I ask if they’d like a second and this is the response “well, we can’t eat the bottles now can we?” I quickly retreated behind the bar and popped open three fresh beers and brought them to the table when I’m greeted with “Ma che cazzo – chi ha ordinato questo? What the fuck – who ordered this?”
  • Two couples come in to eat and drink on the busiest day of the month – the Frozen Open Surf contest. They are polite, happy and after three hours one of the men ask for the check. When I deliver the check to the person who asked I am greeted with anger and really, really bad swear words from the other man. He told me that I should have given the check to him, and I’m an idiot for not knowing that. I told him “I’m sorry sir, but I can’t read the minds of raging lunatics.”
  • My Mizuno running shoes kept a lot of the customers talking for 31 days.Jennifer Avventura My Sardinian Life (9) A four-year old girl said “Your shoes are ugly. They are not beach shoes.” People would obviously stare at my running shoes and make all sorts of comments. I had an argument with a marathoner (N.B. never get into a conversation about running with a multiple time marathoner … it will never end) about me being lazy and not training for a marathon even though I told him I have zero interest in running marathons.
  • I cleaned up enough pee on the bar floor to last me a lifetime. Parents … I know it’s a beach but please put a diaper on it when entering a bar.
  • I learned that if you do your job efficiently that Italians do know how to tip.
  • I saw 31 stunning Sardinian sunsets, surfers and a popular Italian minister.

For this year it’s over, and it seems so is summer; I watch a storm roll in over the mountains of the Gallura and rest my weary waitress head to the table and dream of Mom’s chicken noodle soup.

What did you do that’s spectacular this summer?

Canadian Waitress in Italy | Dumb Blondes

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Two and a half months ago.

Genoveva bumped into him in the lunch line; he laughed a curious laughter as she introduced herself.  “Mi scusi … Salve, mi chiamo Genoveva.” She held out her hand as a peace-offering. “Ciao. Mi chiamo Andrea. Cosa stai facendo in albergo?” He pumped her hand with such force that she thought her heart might stop. “Sono una cameriera nel ristorante a buffet e tu?” They moved slowly down the lunch line together. Today’s special: Baked fish, roast potatoes, traditional Sardinian gnocchi, sautéed eggplants drizzled in the finest olive oil and seadas. “Sono responsabile della sicurezza, qui da sei anni. Di dove sei? Non sembri molto italiana.”

It was true; Genoveva is not Italian. Even with her slight name change she can’t fool anyone “Sono di Canada. Il mio marito è sardo. Sono qui da quasi cinque anni. Sei Sardo?” She didn’t think he was from Sardinia; his bombshell blonde locks gave him away but his accent was so Sardinian. “So you are American! Right on, we can speak English then. I miss speaking English. My father was born in the south of Sardinia and my mother is from Poland. Sardinia has been my home for the last twenty years. Why are you here, in Sardinia?” She silently punched him square between the eyes and said “I’m from Canada, not America.”

His next response surprised her that she almost choked on a piece of gnocchi. “You’re from North America. It’s the same thing as America. Therefore you are American.”

North America Image via WikipediaHe was right in an odd strange way, but what he failed to realize was that within that one continent are twenty-three very different countries. “No, I’m from Canada. I hold a Canadian passport. I say EH and I had a polar bear as a pet when I was a kid.” Her natural sarcasm had taken hold of her. She could see him pondering the idea of twenty-three countries within one continent, smoke coming out of his ears. “So, you lived in an igloo too? I’ve always wanted to live in an igloo.” Genoveva has never in her Canadian life seen an igloo; with the exception of the travel documentaries she used to watch. She did try to build one when she was eight years old but her polar bear sat on it. “Yes, I lived in an igloo. It’s like, so really cool.” She picked up her lunch tray and bid Andrea adieu and she hoped to never see him again.

Three days later

“Hey, America! How’s it going?” Agitation gripped her as she invisibly kicked him between the legs. “Ciao Andrea. I’m from Canada; remember the igloos and polar bears? We spoke about this just three days ago.” This was one time Genoveva wished she had a super cell phone because if she did, she would open an app and show Andrea the international border line dividing Canada and America. “Oh come on, Miss. America, it’s the same thing.” In her mind’s eye she dropkicked him so hard his Polish head split open on the reception floor; instead she said “I’m late for work. Ciao.” She ran into the restaurant and hoped again to never, ever see his ignorant face.

Today

Genoveva wanted to buy a small token of appreciation for her hairdresser and walked into the local flower shop. “Ciao Anna, come stai?”

“Sto bene, grazie. Cosa vuoi oggi. I’m good, thank you. What do you want today?”

“I would like a small bouquet, as a gift for a friend.”

Genoveva picked out a beautiful long stem bamboo shoot, a sunflower and some beautiful white flowers. Anna wrapped them nicely in colourful paper when Genoveva heard a familiar voice; her skin crawled.

“Hey – Genoveva! How’s it going? The hotel season is finally over; I haven’t seen you around the hotel in the last few months, what happened? I can’t wait to get back to the south of the island. When are you going back to America?” His blonde moments outshone everything about him. “I’m from Canada and I live here in Sardinia. Five years now.” Anna the wonderful local floral lady piped in “Si. Genoveva is from Canada but she’s one of us now.”

Defeated, his smile turned down and his face turned sour; he looked at this worn Adidas and said … nothing. He had memory flashbacks of their conversation in the lunch line: twenty-three countries, one continent – America. The local Sardinian woman defeated Andrea with a simple, honest statement about Genoveva fitting in. Finally.

**If you liked this story, try these:

Canadian Waitress in Italy | Embarrassing Moments
Notes from 1997 | Toronto to Bondi Beach, Australia