First Double at the Crackpot

THE SETUP

Tuesday night, I stayed up all night. I had a great flow going. I was editing my short story for Writing Fiction, I was adding some finishing touches to my Theatre History presentation, I was trying to find something to write my paper proposal on, & most importantly, I was goofing off on the internet with my stumble button. Before she went to bed, my mother started to give me a time to go to bed, but instead she told me to make sure I could function. I didn’t *mean* to stay up all night. It just kinda happened. And I functioned just fine. I have two morning classes on Wednesday’s & then I have work at 3:45. Plan: 11:30 to 3:30 = naptime. Shortly before my presentation, my phone rang. Horrified that I’d forgotten to turn it off & grateful that I wasn’t in the middle of a class, I snatched it up. It was George. Something was wrong & while I checked to make sure everything was okay a few times, I didn’t pry & he didn’t tell me. Long story short, he couldn’t work the morning shift. I get out of class too late to do any day shifts during the week, but it was an emergency & they needed two servers, so when class ended, I went in, however late, looking forward to my first double at the Crackpot.

THE MORNING

I was almost entertained that my first double was an on-the-spot surprise that was incredibly badly timed. I figured that if I could work a double on no sleep, I should never have a problem if the situation should come up again. I went in & five tables were scattered in the dining room & Donna was zigzagging about with cocktail trays & a little scowl on her face. I hung my coat, put on my apron, clocked in, & grabbed the two tables that didn’t have drinks yet. When Donna & I had a moment to speak, my internal complaints of sleep deprivation lost all weight. Donna had the flu & hadn’t slept for two days. And during the day, Greg called out because a family member passed away. So Donna hosted for him that evening. My morning was smooth to the casual observer, but chaos in my little head. Having never worked a day shift before, I had to re-program all the reflexes to hit the dinner buttons instead of the lunch buttons & I met the lunch combo which confused me the first time someone ordered it & for maybe an hour, everything was really disorienting. Then this guy came in.

THE GUY – WELL DONE

I don’t know just what it was, cause I’ve had high maintenance tables before & they don’t usually bother me this much . . . maybe it was the man’s apparent assumption that I was stupid or deaf. He orders his food. He wants a hamburger, well done, with fried onions & mushrooms & french fries. Well done. And, uh, no salt on those french fries. And how sweet is the lemonade? Is it too sweet? (Gee, if I shared taste buds with you, I’d let you know) well gimme the lemonade & the hamburger. Well done, please. I brought him the lemonade. Now, when someone asks about the temperature of the soup cause they like it hot, I bring them their soup & ask them how the temperature is so if it’s not hot enough I can run it right back & stick it in the microwave. I bring the guy his lemonade & he reaches for it.
“How’s the sweetness level?”
His hand stops, “Huh?” And then he goes to reach for it again.
“How’s the sweetness level of the lemonade?”
His hand, closer this time, stops again. The suspense is killing me, “Huh?”
“Is the lemonade too sweet for you?”
“Well, I haven’t tried it yet.”
(I was RIGHT HERE! I KNOW! Try the damn stuff, that’s why I’m waiting. Cause I’m a fuckin *WAITER*)
He tasted it & it was fine.
I go to the computer & put in his order. About halfway through the process Donna calls my name & I look up. This guy has actually gotten Donna’s attention to tell her to make sure that I know he wants his hamburger well done. Now, I’m pissed. He told me three times. I wrote it down. I remembered. I’ll remember for a week. Chill. You’ll get your food the way you like it. Later as I walked by their table, their food was half done in the kitchen, he flags me down to make sure that I know the fries should have no salt. In order to keep myself from being rude, I gave a short, but pleasant, “Yessir,” & kept walking.

THE SWITCH

My last table of the day shift was three senior women, one of which had a cold expressionless stare that kept me from warming to them. And she actually looked rather like Martin Sheen. They were looking for the fish on the menu. I told them it was a dinner item & they had the lunch menu, but it was 15 minutes until the switch (which was lucky cause guess how long they took to order - sheesh) & I could bring them dinner menus. They continued to look over the lunch menu . . . “Where’s the fish?”
“It’s on the dinner menu, would you like me to grab you some dinner menus instead?”
“Well, no . . . we’ll do with the lunch menu . . . what kind of fish do you have?”
“Well . . . for *dinner* we have flounder, rockfish, orange roughy, & haddock.”
“Well, I have a coupon for dinner . . .”
“Ah, then you want the dinner menu. Let me get that for you.”
“Wait . . . ”
“You also get the Early bird discount if you order from the dinner menu between three & six. It’s fifteen percent off.”
“Well, I also have a coupon.”
“For dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Let me get you the dinner menu.”
“Okay.”
“Alright, let me get that combo with the sandwich, the soup, & the salad.”
“That’s on the lunch menu.”
“But don’t you have a combo with a sandwich, a soup, & a salad.”
“Actually, it’s only two of the three, but it’s on the lunch menu. You’ve got the dinner menu. But you can still order a sandwich & some soup or salad . . . it just won’t be at the combo price.”
After all that nonsense, they had their dinner, got their discount, used their coupon, & didn’t leave a tip. Nothing.

THE FLOW

I thought two shifts in a row would kill me. As it turned out, I felt pretty good for the evening shift. It was like the day shift gave me a running start. And efficiency had worked its way into my hands after hours of doing the same sort of thing. I wasn’t exhausted & I wasn’t feeling awful because I was stuck at the Crackpot all day. Actually, I think my brain reset when I switched over because it didn’t feel like I’d been there all day. It felt like I’d been there for the duration of the shift.

THE SURPRISE GUEST

I love it when this happens. I LOVE waiting on people I know. I actually didn’t know last night’s surprise guest though. This woman came in with her two children & ordered quickly, two diet sodas, one with lemon, one without, & a sprite. They ordered their food quickly & the mother explained to me that they were in a hurry, so she was rushing them to order. She got a crabcake sandwich with no bread, the boy got chicken fingers, & the girl got a bowl of New England clam chowder. I put the order in, went into the kitchen, told Dan to rush the order, & set up everything I could before the food came up. Then I printed the check & kept it in my apron to save a trip later. While I tended to another table, I kept an eye out for my number to light up. I got the men their drinks, took their order & the food came up. I ran the food & the mother goes, “Wow, that was fast.” I explained that people didn’t seem to think it would make a difference to tell me that they were in a rush, but it does. Although . . . they never have a problem telling me at the *end* of the meal. She asked for the check & I put it on the table right there. Another table came in & I took their drink orders & grabbed the woman’s credit card on my way back. I swiped her card & took the check presenter back. Then I got the drinks for the other table & the woman caught me on my way to the table with full hands & said, “After you drop those off, stop by here.” And I did. She looks at me & says, “What’s your mom’s name?”

. . . . . .

“My mother’s name?”
“Yeah.”
“. . . . . . Angela.”
“You sound *JUST* like her.”
“Uhhh . . .”
“She works for Del Parks . . .”
“Yes . . .”
“I’m his wife.”
“Oh! . . . well, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Your mother is so well spoken . . . & you sound JUST like her. And you look like her & I saw your nametag & thought, Oh . . . Ripley!”

That was just strange. But what’s even stranger is that yes, you can recognize that we’re related just by our voices.
Mitch is Sybil’s husband (Sybil being my mother’s sister) & the three of us have the same voice. Mitch was standing in the middle of the house one day while my mother & Sybil & I were all shouting back & forth from different rooms. He explained to us later that he’d never been so confused & lost.
Dal was sitting in the living room one day when my mother & I were shouting back & forth, both out of sight of Dal & one of us said, “What do you think?” & Dal cut in with, “I think it’s *ridonkulous* how alike you guys sound!”
Dre, one of the busboys – no longer a busboy – actually ran into the liquor store when he heard my mother talking from the restaurant & asked if she was related to me.

It’s insane.

THE BURN

I had a five top & they all ordered soup. I go into the kitchen & start to pour. I get to the cream of crab which is the WORST along the lines of burns & the ladle slipped in my hand & a thick gob landed on my thumb. And because of the consistency, it didn’t roll off . . . it stayed there. As soon as I got past the initial few seconds of shock at the pain, I followed all the basic rules. Don’t spill, drop, or break anything & don’t lick your fingers. Cause the smart thing to do would probably have been to slam down the bowl & jam my hand into my mouth. But I took a few seconds to be sure that I was in control of the pain & wouldn’t drop the soup & set it down slowly. My mistake was that I thought the pain was static. That it would remain at its initial intensity. Oh, no . . . every second felt like the worst pain I’d ever experienced & every second it got just a little worse. In the time it took me to set down the bowl without dropping it, & reach up & grab a napkin to wipe off the soup, the pain grew to the point where my whole body screamed & my face felt badly flushed. Proud of myself that I didn’t scream, I basked in the bliss that was my reduction of pain & my eyes filled with tears. I looked down & my thumb had begun to swell & there was a blue tint to it. Larry walked in & saw me & asked if I was ok & I told him about the burn. He helped me set up the rest of the soup, I took a moment to harness some control, killed the tears & ran the soup. The burn hurt for the rest of the night. Larry gave me some GREAT burn cream from the office & it made things SO much better. After ice & water & some of that cream, the blue tint was gone, the swelling was lessened & the pain was far less powerful.

THE DRUNK

I’ve had some slightly tipsy customers before & over at the bar I’ve had hands of drunken men land firmly on my shoulder while I’m trying to put in an order or wait of a drink to come up, but I’ve never waited on someone who got quite this drunk before. By the end of the meal, she was doing that world famous thing where drunk people acknowledge their drunkenness & apologize for it. She was talking endlessly about things I couldn’t possibly be interested in, gave me her card & told me about some event with handbags & accessories – which was a very hard word for her to say - & I masked my discomfort when she finally touched me. I don’t like to be touched. Drunk people are touchy. Therefore, I don’t really like drunk people. She starts firmly petting my arm, elbow to wrist & talking about the skin products they have & then apologized saying that she was a little intoxicated. Then she insists that I say at the table for a minute, turns to the not nearly as drunk woman sitting with her & says, “We need to leave Miss Ripley a tip!” They get their check taken care of & then I go to the table that was neglected because of the drunken ramble & apologized explaining that I got caught up with another table. Which is a horrible-sounding excuse unless, on cue, my other table walks by & says to me, “Okay, bye! You should come to our events. Look at our website!” And then looks at the woman at my table, “And YOU can come too!!! Here, let me give you my card!” The woman at my no longer neglected table looked up & said, I hope she’s driving & not you. And the woman explains that they’re both driving their own cars – which I happened to know since they met each other there instead of arriving together. They had a meeting with someone that they put on speaker on their cell phone & yelled into it all night. It was quite obnoxious. The woman drove home. I hope she made it. I kinda wish I’d had the guts to tell her she couldn’t leave for a while & after a few glasses of water. I didn’t.