It’s one thing to write about the nuances and idiosyncrasies of guests who have gotten old over the years; it’s another to perform your job poorly as a result of it.

While this column may be titled “Bitter Waiter,” by no means do I lack a passion for what I do. I enjoy making light of my job and some of the people I have the pleasure (or displeasure) of serving. I know I’m a good server, namely because of the amount of guest feedback, oral and written, I’ve received over the years.

But this week I need to turn the table away from guests and toward fellow servers. If it’s the only thing you do before coming to work, so be it: check your attitude and baggage at the door.

This is a good rule of thumb for any job. If you don’t love what you’re doing, don’t do it anymore! You can’t possibly think you’re doing your job to the best of your ability if you hate being there. In fact, you probably can’t do it well at all.

The inability to do one’s job well because of personal-life drama has been demonstrated in its purest form at every restaurant I’ve worked at. At one restaurant, my guests were affected by said adverse behavior on one of my final nights serving there.

“Paul” hadn’t been getting along too well at work for more than three months. He came in late, didn’t say “hi” to anyone, and wore a scowl the same way he styled his hair: tirelessly up-in-your-face and dangerously sharp.

In true allegiance to the camaraderie a service staff should share, the staff attempted to see what was wrong and if anyone could be of any help. Paul blew us off. The appropriate response we gave was to give him space.

Over the months, he began leaving a dirty taste in the mouths of customers and took his frustrations out on co-workers in the form of snide remarks, cheap shots and a pronounced lack of assistance and teamwork.

One night, his attitude affected my arm and two tables I was serving. In the middle of the dinner rush, I was attending about 20 people.

After receiving an order, I arrived at the computer station to enter it in. Out of my peripheral, I watched Paul round the corner with my food, throw it on my tray jack and storm off. I watched in horror as the tray holding my food began to tip toward the ground.

I dove toward the tray, catching it. I saved the plates from falling and shattering, but my act of heroism did not come without catastrophe. I heaved a sigh of relief and closed my eyes too soon.

A steak on one of the plates had enough momentum to continue it’s descent despite my best efforts. My eyes were closed, lips whispering “Thank God” when I heard it. That slice of beef made a low, grunt of a moo. It sounded like a cow that had been about to give a deep, throaty moo but then had been kicked in the chest. It was a painful moo, an inedible moo.

My arm was hot. My eyes popped open one at a time to see all of the sauce had slid off the plate and splashed onto my arm, polo and khakis. It created a wonderfully torrid sensation.

I lifted my gaze to the four guests at the table in front of me. The look on their faces was one of anxiety, pity and fear.

It wasn’t my fault. I tried to save it. Don’t worry, it’s not your food.

But nothing came out of my mouth. I turned and ran to the kitchen, ordering a replacement slab of meat “on the fly” (restaurant jargon for as soon as humanly possible — priority one). I changed my polo and apron as quickly as I could, returning to my guests as quickly as possible.

I explained to the table whose food went from prime-meat to primer that their food will be out shortly, and bought a round of drinks for the table while the guests waited. I was a bit daunted and flustered for the remainder of the evening — I felt like I could never catch up. But my guests were happy, and that’s all that matters in the end.

I never said anything to Paul. I don’t think I had to. He knows his personal life affected his job performance. At least I’d like to think he knew. I left the restaurant for another job a few days after the incident. I just hope he pulled it together.

The one thing I can say about work, though, is don’t do anything half-heartedly. If it’s not something you love, find something you do. You’ll be a more valued employee, coworker and person.

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