Today is May 22, 2011. It looks like we all survived The Rapture yesterday. It was supposed to occur at 6:00 PM in New York City and I had a shift scheduled for 7:00. Since I always put 100% of my faith in 89 year old crazy evangelists, I totally assumed that I would not have to go to work last night. By 6:30, it seemed like I better get my ass in gear and iron my uniform. And when I say “iron” I mean, pull it out of the dirty clothes hamper and smooth it out after scraping all the dried food off of it. I was totally rushed and barely got to work on time. Thanks a lot, Rapture. You totally suck. When I got there, I was told that our head chef didn’t show up for work, so I was to be prepared for a clusterfuck of an evening. My first thought was that he had been taken unto the bosom of Christ, but it turns out that he is sorta a loser and probably just got too drunk to bother with employment. A real pro. My station was already sat. My first table had two of the brattiest children I have ever seen. Another table had a two senior citizens who immediately ordered hot teas and my other table asked for separate checks before I even said hello. “Maybe the Rapture did occur, ” I thought. “Is this is my own personal hell?” When one of the kids threw his sippy cup onto the floor spilling his milk all over the fucking place I was pretty certain that this was in fact Hades. This was no ordinary brat. This was the spawn of the devil sitting at booth number seven and it was my eternal destiny to constantly pick up crap off the floor after he continually throws it there.
The kitchen was slower than Abe Vigoda trying to get an erection and it was a constant battle to get a dessert out of there without it taking more than 15 minutes. And this was a slow night. It seemed like a Tuesday shift, not a Saturday. Perhaps people had really expected Judgement Day and that is why no one came into the restaurant last night. Had people barricaded themselves in their bunkers and basements and just stayed there all night? Had the rain from the afternoon kept people from wanting to venture out into the evening? Possibly, but my guess is that everyone stayed home to watch Pretty in Pink that was on Nickelodeon last night. How can you resist the temptation of Molly Ringwald and Jon Cryer (in his pre-Two and a Half Men days).
The evening plodded on without any major disruptions other than slow kitchen times. I had one table of four ask me to please leave a pitcher of water on the table because they were all heavy drinkers. Of water. I acquiesced because I aim to please. It was also going to be easier than filling water glasses every thirty seconds. All of a sudden Moe takes it off the table and chastises me because it “looks bad.” Moe is not my boss. He is not a manager. He is a waiter, just like me. I always ignore him but last night I actually stood up to him. “They want it there, Moe. They drink a lot of water.” I said.
“Well, you should just keep filling it up then.”
“They want it there, Moe.”
“But it looks bad.”
“Moe. Listen to me. They asked for a pitcher of water for the table and I gave it to them. If that’s what they want, they can have it.”
“Leave. The. Pitcher. Moe. Done. Got it?”
Moe sculked off and I patted myself on the back for finally letting this guy know he needs to keep out of my face. It was my on little rapturous redemption. So maybe God didn’t come down and swoop folks up to Heaven with him, but in my own little world, there was a revelation. It felt nice to let my balls out a bit. For ten weeks, I have been the “new guy” and didn’t want to ruffle the feathers of the people who have been there for years. But last night, I stood my ground and maybe Moe will now leave me the fuck alone. It may not be the end of the world but it’s quite possibly a new beginning.