It seems I may have struck a nerve with the discussion of my employment at Denny’s. I do want to be clear, I did not sign a non-disclosure agreement with Denny’s and I should not be viewed as a spokesperson or representative of their company. They merely posted an ad on Craigslist, opening me to their company and enabling my project to continue.

While I do not support a large amount of the products Denny’s serves—even the training manager remarked sarcastically that one of the meals has “About a million calories in it”—the focus of my blog is Craigslist. Dwelling on health issues and food safety is not the purpose, I just think it is interesting to dedicate a post to. My apologies if my words upset you in one-way or another.

And while I have given Denny’s a thumb down for healthiness, I must say their attitude and perseverance for superb customer service is remarkable.

If, for instance, you walk into a Denny’s right now and order a meatball sub, we will find a way to bring the item to you. Even though Denny’s doesn’t have meatballs anywhere on it’s menu, corporate policy requires complete customer satisfaction. I can’t tell you how many times over the past week I have heard, “It may take more time, and it may cost more money, but we will do it.”

Denny’s new motto “Share the optimism,” epitomizes this change of values. No longer is food the selling point. Managers have said repeatedly that people can go anywhere for pancakes and eggs, “They come to Denny’s for the superior service,” or at least that is the new goal.

Here is how I see it. If people are going to walk into Denny’s, that is their personal choice. And though I would probably choose differently, my job, as a Denny’s employee, is to make that customer’s experience as enjoyable as humanly possible. That is something I can believe in, and I’m confident everyone I have become friends with through my training is equally charged about such a goal.

Which brings me to my peers.

For the most part, I am working with a more rural, lower educated class of Americans I have never been exposed to. It is unclear, for example if Clay, an Iraq war veteran, attended college. He drives a pickup truck, works as a ranch hand and walks like a cowboy 24/7, even in his non-slip work shoes. He has probably become my best friend at work, and our humor conjoins us as a sort of comedy team for the rest of the staff.

Of course, Clay is one of the few male servers, which is one of our few similarities. Aside from our ability to joke and laugh about anything, we almost speak different languages.

Then there is Jake, a 21-year-old black male who is already a father. From what I can tell, he does not fit the stereotyped teenage knocked up then pinned up story, but that is not really my business and so I haven’t asked. He has more in common with the rest of the female servers, most of whom are married with children and don’t look a day older than 25.

I sometimes find myself quietly seated at a table with four of my coworkers who trade stories about their children, from diaper disasters to childcare issues. My life is unfairly simple.

My day job and my Denny’s life is filled with a cast of 18-year-old chain smokers, mothers and fathers my age or younger and people who work three jobs to keep the lights on. And even though I don’t share any of the hardships they endure, we still get along like childhood friends.

I haven’t quite figured out why this is, but I think fundamentally we are all the same. We are all young and hopeful, and we all just want to be part of something. Whether that’s Denny’s—I don’t think so—or a work clique, our desires are simple yearnings for connection.

Tonight, I have invited all of the friends I have made over for a decent sized party. I am imagining a high school-like basement party. I hope it doesn’t get too rowdy.

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