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It's not so much that she never wanted to be a waitress. It's more that she never thought that she would be a waitress forever.
She had dreams once, when she was younger.
Not big dreams, not really. They weren't the sort of thing you could put into a solid plan, no step one, step two, rinse and repeat.
(She knows more about steps now than she ever thought she would.)
No, her dreams had been nebulous, hard to pin down, hard to describe as anything really, anything but happy.
She learnt young that she wasn't the type of girl who was allowed to dream big, but maybe if she tried hard enough and hoped hard enough she could get something, just something.
If she could just make it through high school, then people would learn her name.
(She's forty and alone, and anyone still alive who ever knew her name has forgotten it by now.)
If she could just pick up a few more shifts, then maybe she'd finally be able to afford that community college night class.
(She's fired, again and again and again and it was never once her fault, not really.)
If she could just hold down a job, just for long enough for a little stability, just for some breathing space.
(She's thirty six and living in a women's shelter and she spends her nights hovering just on the edge of the sleep.)
If she could just meet a man who was kind, who was gentle, who would love her for her.
(She is followed and berated and broken up with out of spite.)
If once, just once, something good could happen.
(She's so tired of waiting.)
Once, she would sit on her bed in her tiny new apartment, wrapped tight in a blanket to keep out the cold that the broken heat couldn't stave away, and look up at the moon through the grimy window and think that things were going to be ok.
Once, every new day felt like an opportunity, like a countdown to a day that she could stop standing still.
Once, every bottle wasn't a siren song, every neon sign in the street not blinding like a homing beacon.
Once, she didn't mind being a waitress, because it wasn't the sum total of her being.
Once, there was something keeping her in Philadelphia.
She's forgotten what that thing was.
Maybe she's done waiting.