You know when you’re a kid, the countdown your parents used when they would tell you to turn the TV off during your favorite song in your favorite Disney movie? The one where they tell you to do something, you pretend not to hear them and then they begin the dooming “3, 2 …1.” Scared of the fate that awaits after one, you dash to do whatever they ask.
Well, for the first time in 15+ years, I was given a countdown… by a table.
I was in one of my least favorite stations, furthest from the kitchen and was getting triple sat during the time the countdown was given to me. Their dessert was taking a bit of time, I had noticed, and was going to go back and check on it when I ran to get my other three tables their drinks. I was putting in my three orders when a hostess came up to me and said they requested my presence at the table.
I finished putting in orders and dashed to their table in record time to attend to their dire needs, sure that I was about to change someone’s life.
Turns out I was just ruining it; one of the lovely-aged women at the table awaited me with daggers stabbing from between her wrinkles where I think I saw brown eyes and a sneer on her mouth reserved just for me, the life-ruiner. She spat at me, demanding to know the location of her desserts as if her next few breaths depended on her ice cream intake.
I smiled at her like I do all tables who act like spoiled five-year-olds, and apologized for the long wait and told her I had seen the kitchen was a little backed up last time I was in there but I would go check on it for her right away.
Apparently, that wasn’t enough for her. Because she retorted with an obvious, “It must be really backed up then!” Well no shit, Sherlock. I just said that. I apologized again and told her I would go check on it right then, which I did have every intention of doing until she let another snarl come out, “Well you have two minutes to go back and check on it for me.”
I walked away immediately after that statement, pretty sure the shock would show on my face. I wasn’t sure how to respond, but couldn’t believe my table had just given me a time limit to be back at the table.
My natural reaction kicked in though, and I proceeded to check on my other three tables again even though I needed to be getting their drinks. I also proceeded to pre-bus the table that had just gotten up, making sure to pick up every utensil, napkin and scrap of food, wondering the whole time if she was watching me. I wanted her to be watching me tick away those precious two minutes she had allowed for me.
As I walked through the kitchen doors, I couldn’t help but wonder what a wonderful blog post this was going to make the next day.
People crack me up.
Until next time.
TSD
