Originally Posted by
cato
The highlight of my career was during a busy weekend brunch, when I brought out a carefully packed tray of loaded plates to a booth of six. I was carrying the tray with my right hand, over my shoulder in the usual way. The place was buzzing and I was in that zone you are in during a rush, when you move from one thing to another, making sure above all else that you greet a table and bring them water within so many minutes of them being sat, run food when its hot and never leave the customers waiting too long for whatever they were waiting for. I grabbed the tray stand with my free hand, flipped it open to my left, put the tray down, grabbed a plate and served the first person to my right. As I was putting the plate down, I saw everyone’s eye latch onto the tray behind me and widen.
With horror.
I turned in time to see the entire tray slide off the stand. I think I caught the tray itself as it tilted and dove for the floor, but I was too late for the food. Every single plate, egg, potato, pancake, sausage, slice of bacon and bowl of grits went crashing to the floor. The restaurant fell silent and my fellow waitstaff (already used to carrying a bit more weight when I was serving) sprung into action to help me clean up.
The usual din slowly rebuilt, but not quickly enough to cover the sound of Wayne yelling from the kitchen when he learned that the entire order for six had to be redone, right at the height of weekend brunch.
The meals were comped, the food re-made and re-served and the forgiving folk still tipped me. But what I really took away from that day is the indelible image of six sets of eyes, turning from anticipation to horror right before me, vividly painting what was happening behind me as their delicious breakfast was sacrificed to the linoleum gods.
And the enduring disappointment of Wayne.