Broken Dishes, Spilled Drinks, and the Terror of the Grey Witch

I passed several important milestones during last night's shift: I broke my first plate, I spilled my first drink on a customer, and I realized that I was terrified of the Grey Witch.

The Grey Witch (not her real name) has long braided hair, black mostly gone to grey, and so I referred to her in previous posts as Lady Greymane. She is one of the managers at PG13 and the only one I did not interview with before I took this job as a server. Had I done so, I would have been less sanguine about my prospects of success.

She is another one of those few people that I have run across in life who (I am embarrassed to say) thoroughly intimidate me. In her presence I become mute and stupid--on several occasions I have proclaimed loudly "we are out of [fill-in-the-blank]: We need [fill-in-the-blank]" and the Grey Witch materializes behind me and says "They're right in front of you."

"Where?" I ask. "Right in front of you," she repeats. And she's right--the spoons or the garnishes or the straws are right in front of me. As she turns away I mutter to myself "Why am I always such an idiot in front of you?" "Perhaps," I continue, half in jest, "I'm just always an idiot." Another server overhears this and chuckles--of course I was unaware that he was in earshot either.

But enough of terror, back to comedy:

When I came in, the bus-tubs were all crammed full of dishes from the day shift, and there wasn't a dishwasher on duty yet. Clearing a table, I unthinkingly tried to cram another stack of plates into one of tubs recessed below the counter. Moments later I was greeted with a hearty CRASH and the sight of large bowl and a plate in several pieces. This was the probably the high point of my evening.

Not too much later I was bringing a tray of drinks to a couple with their three children--a cherry coke, a chocolate milk, and several other children's beverages which I do not remember. Following protocol, I give the kids their drinks first and then, while shifting my tray I unbalance the top-heavy cherry-coke all over the child to whom I just presented her milk.

I apologize immediately and profusely and the family moves to another table. They are fine and consider the whole thing more entertaining than anything else. If I had followed-up by getting their orders right that would have been it and would have been fine. They eat and leave not exactly happy but not disgruntled either.

And, sad to say, that wasn't the worst of it. Somehow, just before the cherry-coke deluge, I had taken the order for another pair with a child, gotten them their drinks and appetizer but delayed getting their order entered.

This is a good time to describe the Einsteinian time-dilation that I have experienced several times since beginning my work at PG13. This comes invariably when I get busy, am running orders here and there, refilling this drink, seating this customer, clearing of that table, and so on. Within my personal, subjective time frame perhaps 90 seconds transpires but, inexplicably, PG13 objective clock-time will record a full forty-five MINUTES.

I know this because the Grey Witch timed me. Actually, the system did that, and she just looked up the details when the customers complained. Quaking in my work-shoes, the Grey Witch informs me that "she just can't have that." For the rest of my shift I make damn sure I put the customers' orders in completely as soon as I get them.

You might think that was common-sense. And if all I had to do was deliver cooked food it would be. But with multiple customers being seated at unpredictable intervals, with previous orders coming up and the high priority given to delivering customers food hot, the need to ring-out customers at the cash-register, greet and seat those coming in, and remembering to deliver dinner bread and salads before the main meal--given all of that, the time required in navigating the labyrinthine POS system to enter the order is not inconsequential. And more than once I have fallen into a time-dilation while glued to the order-entry screen trying to find some obscure entre whose screen name bears no earthly resemblance to the customer's menu.

The rest of the evening passed without events of comparable significance. There was the usual $4 or $5 tip on a couple $50-plus orders, a businessman talking on his phone all through his meal, the odd-couple with guy in Mohawk and a bible and child in evidence, and three regulars who had VERY specific requirements and were simply not able to get an English muffin toasted to their liking.

Still, for me, it was an average night for tips. With several large parties, though, there were certainly a number of lost opportunities.

My 30-days are not yet up and I retain doubts as to whether or not I will be fired after my trial period completes. But I tell myself that's just paranoid. Still, after working every evening with the Grey Witch, getting fired might not be the worst thing coming.