It wasn’t a regular Thursday night; we were jammed. To make matters worse, Eric decided not to show up because he had a concert to go to that night, little fucker. You know the type of night I’m talking about – the managers are sweating from head to toe, bartender screaming, and all the servers were running around like chickens with their heads cut off. And there I was, standing in the middle of it, watching disasters happen in slow motion. I hurriedly grabbed all the dishes I could and ran into the dish pit to drop them off and take a breather. Even the dish boy was scrambling to clean the heaps of dishes. Shit.
I was still in my 3 month probation period at this restaurant, and had been written up twice already; last thing I needed was to mess up again. I went to the expo to go run some food and piled up plates trying desperately to remember all three tables I had to go to. Remembering 3 tables isn’t hard until you start piling on the requests that each table gives you – drink refills, more sauce, and more goddamn free bread. I hate free bread.
After dropping off the food I went to the bar to help run the drinks that were piling up; the bartender was having a meltdown. I put way too many drinks on the tray and grabbed a pitcher of beer with my other hand. I knew this wouldn’t end well, but I went ahead anyway. As I went to round the corner, another waitress barreled into me and sent me flying backwards down a small set of stairs. As my arms flew up in panic, I sent the drinks flying behind me; all of them. I sat on the floor looking up at the horrified expression on the waitress’s face.
I stood up to look at the damage I had caused to the table of businessmen where 8 pints and a pitcher crash-landed. I have never seen so many Blackberrys and Calvin Klein suits ruined in my entire life. The man at the head of the table slowly pushed his chair back and stood up to face me; I could see how red his face was before he even turned around. My heart stopped the second I saw his face – it was Earl – the manager of my other job. He wiped the beer off his face and then leaned in close and whispered, “Don’t even think about coming into the office tomorrow. You’re done!” I turned and ran into the back with the entire restaurant looking at me.
As I quickly went to escape to the bathroom, I slipped on some oil on the kitchen floor and tried to catch my fall but instead grabbed a pan of searing hot oil and sent it flying right over the grill, causing a huge flare up and ruining nearly everything on it. My manager had walked in just in time to see it all go down. I watched 30 different emotions go through his face as he tried to find something to say. “Are you okay?” he asked me through clenched teeth. “Yes, I am fine.” I was afraid of what would happen next. “Good. Go home; you’re fired.”
And that night I was fired from two jobs in less than a minute. Oh good.
- The Million Dollar Server
My blog: The Million Dollar Server