When I decide to flip out and have a meltdown, I tend to act a lot like Christian Bale.
From 4:30 until 9:30 tonight I did not have a break. I did not have time to get a drink, go pee, eat anything or smoke a cigarette. I did not get a break from country music, screaming kids, needy customers, or needier co-workers. All I had to eat all day was a small bag of cashews and a yogurt bar.
Did I mention the buser quit? Well, she did. Today. Right before her shift.
No buser in the summer means double duty for the servers. I bust my ass and pre-bus my tables so I can get the tables cleared as quickly as possible when people leave. Most servers don’t do this, which means my section is usually the only one with clean tables. On one hand I get more tables which means I make more money, but on the other hand, seriously, screw you bitches for not pre-busing.
At around 9:30 a wave of people left my section and I hauled ass to get the four tables cleaned so I could go outside and smoke. It is against policy to go outside if you have dirty tables, but I seem to be the only one to follow that policy. Just as I finished cleaning the fourth table, Angel sat some people in my section.
Okay. Not a big deal. Water, drink order, food order and then I can go outside.
When I walked out of the waitstaion with water I noticed I had 2 more tables.
Fine. Whatever. Water, 3 drink orders, 3 food orders, outside.
As I was getting water for all 3 tables, Goth Girl came in the waitstation and told me she seated me again because I was the only one with clean tables.
Goth Girl offered to get water for the new table and get their drinks, so I calmly explained how my plan to actually have a moment to myself before I went batshit insane and killed a whole bunch of people got jacked. I told her I would NOT be cleaning off the two new empty tables anytime soon, so the other servers either needed to get their shit together and clean some tables or the hostesses needed to clean tables in someone’s section other than mine.
Communication is key or so they tell me.
At a little after 10:00 all of my tables had their food, some had their tickets, some were at the register paying, so I figured it was safe to order something small to eat. I called back a side of hushpuppies and told the cooks not to burn them.
When I went to the register to pay for them, which is about 5 feet away from the food window, Goth Girl had a question. I was standing at the register, 5 feet away from the food window, when Hick Cook yelled my name. I don’t mean he called it, I mean he bellowed like he was calling the cows home. I ignored him since the only thing he could call me for was my food.
Before I could pay for the hushpuppies, Angel had a question. As I helped her, 5 feet away from the food window, Hick Cook bellowed my name again. Then LMKIA had a question and Hick Cook bellowed my name AGAIN.
I took about 3 steps to the food window and said, “I know you can see me standing right there. Repeatedly bellowing my name is absurd.”
He asked, “Did you want a side of hushpuppies or hushpuppies to replace the ones on the catfish?”
What catfish? I didn’t have catfish. What the hell is he talking about?
“What did I order?”
“Uh…a side of hushpuppies?”
“Then that’s what I want.”
I looked down and saw a basket of black marbley looking things. “These better not be my hushpuppies.”
“I told you not to burn them! What did I say? Don’t burn them!”
“They aren’t burnt.”
“The fuck they aren’t! They are black! I told you I didn’t want them burnt! How fucking hard is it?!”
“That’s just the way they look.”
“My ass it is! They are burnt. I don’t give a shit! I told you not to burn them! Don’t stand there and argue with me! I know how I want my hushpuppies and this isn’t it! I don’t care how you think they should look for the customers, this isn’t how they look for me!”
Then one of the other cooks stepped in to save Hick Cook and I gave him the crazy look so he pipsqueaked, “You can ask Chetto, that’s how they look.”
Chetto said, “I don’t want no part of this.”
Hick Cook said, “Maybe next time you should tell us you want them raw.”
“Maybe next time I won’t order them from someone who doesn’t know how to cook.”
I flailed around in the waitstation for a while, stomping my feet and pulling my hair before I took my burnt hushpuppies and pasta salad outside where no one could find me and I could huddle like Gollum and eat dinner and smoke. After my meltdown, nobody wanted to find me anyway.
By the way, the hushpuppies were shit and went in the trash.