Jesus was a carpenter, I am a waiter....
I knew Friday was going to be an interesting day when my choice of underwear was restricted to one of two pairs. One likes to reach blindly into the drawer and a pull out a large roomy pair of briefs but this was not the case on Friday. I reached in, rummaged around, and came out with nothing. This was a most unsatisfactory situation. Peering further into the drawer I realised all my boxer shorts etc were either in the wash, just out of the wash or in the queue to be washed. I also realised that my sock to briefs ratio is well out of kilter as I have a many more pairs of socks than briefs. Why the disparity? Surely there should be balance in the whole underwear department.
not my pants....
In the end it came down to a choice between a pair of tight green jockey-esque briefs or my Incredible Hulk comedy pants. Remembering that the tight green jockey-esque briefs have a nasty tendency to chaff I had no choice but to opt for the Incredible Hulk comedy pants. I'm no fan of comedy underwear. I mean the comfort, care and protection of ones genitalia is not a laughing matter. But like I say my choices were limited and I lack the confidence to go commando. It had been quite a while since I last wore them but they must have shrunk as they were somewhat tighter than I remember. (Yeah that's right "shrunk" hehehehe - LMM) They were a bit too Incredible Hulk like for my liking.
Friday night was busy, actually we surpassed busy within the first hour and before we knew it we were riding the choppy waters of full house. But it was good, we were good, the kitchen was good. Every obstacle the guests put in our way was dealt with masterful ease. For example...
There was a table of 20 show up that claimed to have booked that we didn't know about. POW! We got them seated without them even realising there was a problem.
There was a table of 16 that arrived with 5 extra guests. POW! We got them seated proving that 21 into 16 does go.
Oh you want three courses in an hour? POW! No problem, we did it.
We were hot. Every extra guest seated, every table served with grace, calmness and good humour. They set 'em up, we knocked them right out of the field. POW! POW! POW!
It was a really great night and after 8 o'clock nothing went wrong.
A table of fourteen didn't arrive with seven unannounced extra guests and insist we seat them all. Sixteen of them didn't sit there meekly saying nothing whilst four of them swore, ranted, raved, and generally abused waiter chum number one for not looking into her crystal ball and guessing that there would be seven extra places required. That same four then didn't go on a mini rampage lashing out verbally at all and sundry for not having the ability to quickly fashion a table and four chairs out of thin fucking air.
I'm glad that didn't happen
I'm also very relieved that the quartet of doom didn't launch a verbal assault on me as I was happily carrying out my waiterly duties. I'm glad they didn't threaten me with violence. I'm glad they didn't threaten me with violence. I'm glad they didn't threaten me with violence. I mean I was overcome with joy that the large oafish chap with a head like an anvil and fists like mallets didn't threaten to, "Knock my fucking head off." I was delighted that they didn't start telling lies and making up stories. If they had abused my manager and called him "scum" and followed it up with more threats to remove heads from shoulders, well, that would have been intolerable. So I'm chuffed that didn't happen.
Mostly I'm really pleased that I didn't react to any of this provocation and keep clam and controlled through it all.
And I'm super fucking pleased that I didn't get so wound up and beside myself with anger that I tripped the abort button in my head and decide to call it a day and storm the fuck out. Phew I'm glad that didn't happen at half eight on a Friday night.
Because if that had all happened at half eight on a Friday night and four people had verbally abused my friends and co-workers and my good self and issued viscious threats of violence and in the end have to be ushered out the door leaving my waiter chums traumatized and myself half way home then that would be both abhorrent and unacceptable.
So thank fuckity that didn't happen.
Oh....wait.....it did.
And all because we couldn't seat them.
They booked for fourteen but twenty one arrived. We couldn't accommodate them, we apologised but what were we to do? Jesus was apparently handy with carpentry and fashioning stuff out of thin air but despite my large ego I am not Jesus nor do I posses any carpentry or magic skills. So I cant create tables and chairs and the space to put them in out of nothing.
That's why I have now binned the Incredible Hulk pants. I get all Bruce Bannerish with them on and we all know he had severe anger management issues. In the end I only got as far as the back door. I realised half way through my storming out that I had no cash on me with which to secure the services of a taxi and I'm far too lazy to walk the two miles home. To lazy to walk out, ha! So after a brief conversation with the boss, were he craftily tugged on my sense of camaraderie, I walked back in again with the same force that I walked out. The rest of the night went like a breeze and within half an hour we were laughing and relaxed again.
But the whole incident was, in the end, a minor, if quite scary, moment in a hugely successful and lucrative weekend. So why is still bothering me? Is it my reaction or theirs that has me contemplating the point of it all? I'm going shopping on Monday for new underwear, maybe that will offer me some new perspective or at the very least better underpant options. And isn't that all what we really want - perspective and good underwear......
Friday night was busy, actually we surpassed busy within the first hour and before we knew it we were riding the choppy waters of full house. But it was good, we were good, the kitchen was good. Every obstacle the guests put in our way was dealt with masterful ease. For example...
There was a table of 20 show up that claimed to have booked that we didn't know about. POW! We got them seated without them even realising there was a problem.
There was a table of 16 that arrived with 5 extra guests. POW! We got them seated proving that 21 into 16 does go.
Oh you want three courses in an hour? POW! No problem, we did it.
We were hot. Every extra guest seated, every table served with grace, calmness and good humour. They set 'em up, we knocked them right out of the field. POW! POW! POW!
It was a really great night and after 8 o'clock nothing went wrong.
A table of fourteen didn't arrive with seven unannounced extra guests and insist we seat them all. Sixteen of them didn't sit there meekly saying nothing whilst four of them swore, ranted, raved, and generally abused waiter chum number one for not looking into her crystal ball and guessing that there would be seven extra places required. That same four then didn't go on a mini rampage lashing out verbally at all and sundry for not having the ability to quickly fashion a table and four chairs out of thin fucking air.
I'm glad that didn't happen
I'm also very relieved that the quartet of doom didn't launch a verbal assault on me as I was happily carrying out my waiterly duties. I'm glad they didn't threaten me with violence. I'm glad they didn't threaten me with violence. I'm glad they didn't threaten me with violence. I mean I was overcome with joy that the large oafish chap with a head like an anvil and fists like mallets didn't threaten to, "Knock my fucking head off." I was delighted that they didn't start telling lies and making up stories. If they had abused my manager and called him "scum" and followed it up with more threats to remove heads from shoulders, well, that would have been intolerable. So I'm chuffed that didn't happen.
Mostly I'm really pleased that I didn't react to any of this provocation and keep clam and controlled through it all.
And I'm super fucking pleased that I didn't get so wound up and beside myself with anger that I tripped the abort button in my head and decide to call it a day and storm the fuck out. Phew I'm glad that didn't happen at half eight on a Friday night.
Because if that had all happened at half eight on a Friday night and four people had verbally abused my friends and co-workers and my good self and issued viscious threats of violence and in the end have to be ushered out the door leaving my waiter chums traumatized and myself half way home then that would be both abhorrent and unacceptable.
So thank fuckity that didn't happen.
Oh....wait.....it did.
And all because we couldn't seat them.
They booked for fourteen but twenty one arrived. We couldn't accommodate them, we apologised but what were we to do? Jesus was apparently handy with carpentry and fashioning stuff out of thin air but despite my large ego I am not Jesus nor do I posses any carpentry or magic skills. So I cant create tables and chairs and the space to put them in out of nothing.
That's why I have now binned the Incredible Hulk pants. I get all Bruce Bannerish with them on and we all know he had severe anger management issues. In the end I only got as far as the back door. I realised half way through my storming out that I had no cash on me with which to secure the services of a taxi and I'm far too lazy to walk the two miles home. To lazy to walk out, ha! So after a brief conversation with the boss, were he craftily tugged on my sense of camaraderie, I walked back in again with the same force that I walked out. The rest of the night went like a breeze and within half an hour we were laughing and relaxed again.
But the whole incident was, in the end, a minor, if quite scary, moment in a hugely successful and lucrative weekend. So why is still bothering me? Is it my reaction or theirs that has me contemplating the point of it all? I'm going shopping on Monday for new underwear, maybe that will offer me some new perspective or at the very least better underpant options. And isn't that all what we really want - perspective and good underwear......
