I swear the phrase, “Save the drama for your mama” was invented for the Cowboy. Or it should have been.
One of the beer coolers died this week. Doc worked on the compressor and got it running, but it died. He worked on it again, it worked, then it died. MDFR got to work on Friday, noticed the cooler wasn’t working, again, and pitched an enormous fit.
“All the beer is ruined, it’s cooked and we’ll have to throw it all away,” he ranted to Big Jim.
Jim called Sharron, ranted at her, Sharron came in the kitchen and ranted at me.
“Uh…why is the beer ruined?”
“Because it’s warm.”
“Why would that make any difference. Put it in the walk-in.”
“MDFR says it’s ruined.”
“He’s full of shit. Beer is delivered here warm. It’s stored in warm warehouses, I know because I worked for Pepsi and they were also a beer distributor. Our warehouse wasn’t air conditioned. We stored the beer at the Harribalsac in the warm office. Beer will go bad if it’s left out in the sun for days on end, but it doesn’t go bad just because it gets warm. As if that little fucker has never drank a warm beer.”
Meanwhile, Jim called Doc, screamed at him, and maybe even fired him.
MDFR came in the kitchen and started ranting about the beer.
Sharron said, “Holly says you’re wrong.” Awesome. Like he’s never heard that before. “She says you need to put the beer in the walk-in and get over it.”
He stared at me, completely dumbfounded then said, “I’ll have to rearrange stuff in the walk-in and I’ll have to trip over what’s already in there to do it.”
Bottom line: He wanted to come to work and sit on his ass or play pool with his friends. When faced with a problem he wanted to point fingers and cause a huge kerfluffle. In the end, he looked like a dumbass.
Saturday when I got to work I noticed the hall light was out. I asked Sharron about it and she said she couldn’t reach the pull chain and she didn’t feel like getting a chair to turn it on. We adopted an ‘aw, fuck it’ approach since there was enough ambient light for people to find the restrooms.
Fast forward to the end of my shift. I was cleaning a table in the dining room when I noticed MDFR and Davey with a flashlight in the hall. WTF? They pulled the ladder from behind the dining room door and I asked what they were doing.
“We are going to replace the light bulb.”
For the record, MDFR is about the most useless person I’ve ever met. He has absolutely no mechanical or problem solving skills and changing a light bulb is possibly beyond his scope of expertise.
“Sharron didn’t turn the light on today. You just need to pull the chain.”
“No, the bulb is out.”
I took dishes back in the kitchen and returned to hear Davey say, “That’s not the problem. I shook the bulb and it isn’t broken. It’s probably an electrical problem.”
Again, “Sharron didn’t turn the light on today. You just need to pull the chain.”
Davey yanked on the chain with no success. Knowing those two brain surgeons, there wasn’t a light bulb in the socket. MDFR yelled to Jim, “It’s probably the fuse or some other electrical problem.”
I ignored them and counted the register, then I heard Sharron’s voice, and I seethed that they called her over for something so asinine as a light fixture.
I went in the kitchen and slowly and calmly started eating my fish dinner. Sharron came in and stared at me for a few seconds then asked, “Did you tell Jim about the light?”
“Nope. Want some fish?”
We ate fish and I silently thought of ways to kill everyone on the bar side.
“Why didn’t they just pull the chain? I was getting in the shower when Jim called in a big panic because the light was off.”
“The light’s been off all day. Why didn’t they notice it before? Why is it a big deal RIGHT NOW at closing time? I told them they needed to pull the chain, but in typical drunk fashion, they had to make it a really big deal. I get tired of telling them how wrong they are.”
And I do.
We have issues on the restaurant side. Things break, we have floods, pilot lights go out, shit happens. But we fix them and shut up about it. Every little thing doesn’t have to be an ‘end of the world’ situation. I know the bar people think we work in a state of the art kitchen where everything is perfect, shiny and new, but guess what? It isn’t. We just don’t have time to bitch about it.