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I think yesterday was the worst shift I ever worked.  And believe me, in eight years of sporadic employment, I've worked some pretty hellacious days and nights.  This time, I had my least favorite section, in which six tables sat down at once (no ones fault, it just goes like that sometimes) and then, as soon as I had taken all of their orders, the printer in the kitchen ran out of paper and no one noticed for 20 minutes. 

Which means no food came out to my tables, who were the last to order because they were the last to sit, for well over an hour.  There comes a point as a waitress when you just can't face your tables any more and bear the shame of their judgment, and so you hide in the server station and cajole your colleagues to drop checks, fill water glasses, etc. 

I was well past that point when I received word that the surly assholes at table 19 wanted more water.  Of course, their food and the food of their neighbors was still stuck in a kitchen labyrinth somewhere, and it had been a good fifteen minutes since I'd assured them all that their food would be out in five.  Also, my shoulder had started to hurt pretty badly when things went to hell in the kitchen, and by this time my stomach was hurting too because I'd taken 1800 mg of ibuprofen, and it was not yet quite one p.m.  Things were going badly, and  could see my potential tips dwindling by the second.

And it was then, as I prepared to face my angry section and quell the riot brewing there, with the prospect of carrying a tray of water glasses in the wrong hand through the throng, with no food imminent, that I dropped a glass and shattered it.  This seemed like a little more than I should be expected to bear on my second day back after an absence of over a year, and so I did the only thing I could do: I set everything down, stepped delicately over the shards of broken glass, and locked myself in the bathroom stall for a little cry.  It had to be a little cry, because taking the deep breaths necessary for sobbing caused my shoulder to hurt like I was being stabbed.

After a few minutes, I got myself together and went to each of my tables and explained that there had been a fire in the kitchen and that it wasn't my fault their food was so late.  Most restaurants would have probably bought them a drink or something, but we pride ourselves on being a little surly at M's.  I mean, why would waiters want to keep their customers happy?  What's in it for us? (It's actually the management who's not so interested in keeping the customers happy.  Or the staff, for that matter.  Though we did get McDonald's for lunch.  I hate McDonald's.)

Anyway, universe: I'm sorry I said I had a good day Monday.  I'm extra double sorry that I said I'm a good waitress.  I understand now that I was arrogant and presumptuous, but I think I've been punished enough at this point.  Let's start with a clean slate tonight, 'kay?  I'll be humble and industrious, and you see to it that some people who tip 20% sit in my section.

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Comments

[Slice]

Was there really a fire in the kitchen? I love this post. It brings back 'fond' memories of the 3 1/2 weeks I waited tables at a sports bar during my senior year in college. I sucked. Absolutely sucked. Me and a buddy of mine would play this game where we would see who could make up the best excuse as to why we screwed up an order/the food came out late/we missed something/we forgot something. Our sections were usually right next to one another. We both agreed that the best one ever was when I forgot to send an order to the kitchen for this party of 12 (naturally 6 of which were little kids), I got out and tell the adults, "Folks, I can't believe this, but there was a delay with your order because a mild scuffle broke out between two of our chefs, and one chef was stabbed and had to be taken to the hospital."

They were so shocked I think they momentarily forgot how furious they were with me. The best part was my buddy being in earshot when I was going through this spiel and cracking up in the middle of taking someone's order. Good times.

Hang in there. At least you aren't a complete idiot like me.

[Cara]

No, no fire. Just general idiocy and bad luck. But as you said, human error just makes people angry. The truth is never good enough. I may have to use that one about the cooks fighting.

The best waitress story ever is from my old colleague Jen. She ate one of her customers' cheese fries in the kitchen before picking up the plate and hustling it out to their table. When she set it down and went to walk away, there was a string of cheese running from the dish to her mouth--busted! She ran away and never went back to that table.