Blogging for Books
For this month’s Blogging for Books, write a blog entry about the best or worst experience you’ve ever had working for someone else.
You may be an ambassador to England or France,
You may like to gamble, you might like to dance,
You may be the heavyweight champion of the world,
You may be a socialite with a long string of pearlsBut you’re gonna have to serve somebody, yes indeed
You’re gonna have to serve somebody,
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you’re gonna have to serve somebody.
I have a long and undistinguished string of jobs, and unfortunately any really good stories have been lost in the mists of my brain. But after mulling over this topic a bit (and getting Bob Dylan stuck in my head for a while) one incident keeps popping up over and over.I was in college, and as many students do, I was waiting tables to make ends meet. There was a casual dining place near the school called Harrigans. This job wasn’t extremely difficult, as waitron jobs go, you basically had to just pay attention and keep the customers happy. About the only thing that distinguished Harrigans from other places like Chilis and Bennigans and Fridays et. al. is that they still, in the interest of customer service, brought menus, ketchup, mustard, whatever out to your table, instead of leaving it there all the time. That way you weren’t staring at a pile of dirty menus and half-filled ketchup bottles if you only wanted soup or a cup of coffee or something.
This is back in the day when you could pretty much smoke anywhere. We had four tables set aside on a place we called ‘the patio’ (it wasn’t a real patio, but we called it that. Go figure) that were designated “non smoking”. Now (management experts here will agree) this was the busiest place in the whole joint and apparently in an effort to keep our customers waiting we did not designate any of the other fifty some odd tables non smoking.
Anyway, to work The Patio was a big deal, since you were guaranteed to be busy from the beginning of your shift to the end. It was a bigger deal during Sunday Brunch, since this is when everyone came in all dressed up after church and if they had a couple of mimosas then you might get a bigger tip.
So I was working the Patio, during Sunday Brunch, for the first time ever. So much for background info.
I had a big table, a really nice group of middle-aged types (no children) that were all having a grand time, perhaps they hadn’t seen each other in a while. We were cutting up with each other, they laughed at my food jokes as I told them about the specials, I laughed at their jokes about how long they had been waiting, etc. They ordered a bunch of omelets (my favorite is the Braz Om, or Brazillian omelet, with pineapple and ham in it, but I digress). I get them their coffee and tea, I place their order, everything was great.
I bring out their food with the help of another server – it took two trays. I place it on the table, everything is great (we at Harrigans are proud of the fact that when people order their food we note where they are sitting so we don’t stand there with a plate and go “Who ordered the barbecue burger?” like a dumbass).
One woman asked for ketchup. I had placed a bottle in my apron pocket so I wouldn’t have to run get it. “Heeere you go!” I said as I pulled it out with a flourish.
The top had come off. In my pocket. In one move, I sprayed ketchup on six people. In their hair. On their silk blouses. It was on the table. It was on the floor. The bottle was now half-empty.
At this point I was really hoping the earth would open up and swallow me, or perhaps one of the jovial gentlemen would pull out a derringer and finish me off for staining his bride. But somehow, it wasn’t so bad. We cleaned everyone up – that took a while. I tried hard to be invisible for the rest of the meal.
But I still got a tip.
