Many eons ago in a state that isn't even 100 miles from north to south, I was able to give a cashier $20 for something that cost $19.99 and I still got a penny back. But that has nothing to do with this story. Well, except that I'm talking about Delaware. And that I lived there collegiately during the mid to late 90s.
Towards the latter edge of the later 90s I decided that I needed a job that wasn't a $4 / hour work study on-campus job. I therefore applied at two places. Kindercare and Outback Steakhouse. I was offered both jobs. The one a teacher / baby sitter for infants and toddlers. The other a host who seated people and rolled silverware. Children OR cheese fries with ranch, a salad with the best croutons I've ever tasted, the tastiest brown bread in existence, and steak seasoned with 14 billion spices not to mention the Wallaby Darned - all half off. Outback it was.
I did the host thing for quite some time. Got pretty good at it. But this ain't about that. I'll tell some of those other stories at another time. This story is about one particularly trying night that has something to do with a fire hazard. Thus the title...
This story includes as the main characters a guy named Bob, a girl named Sarah, and me.
Bob the waiter was an ass. Most likely still is an ass. Big ears. Little head. Always wore his shirt too tightly to impress the ladies. Grinned after every one of his crude jokes. Walked with a swagger. Couldn't say anything intelligent if he tried. Typical frat jock numnutz.
Sarah the waitress was a bitch. Long, flowing brunette hair, obviously dyed. Always wore her shirt too tightly to impress the men. Wouldn't speak to anyone she deemed a lower life form than she, which was everyone except others of her kind and men she deemed attractive. Or people who controlled her paycheck in some way, shape, or form.
Bob and Sarah had three tables apiece. Both had two six tops - booths - and an 8-person round table. In the smoking section. Yes, that archaic section akin to a peeing section in a swimming pool was a hit or miss proposition. Some nights, it was a ghost town. Other nights, it was a smokehouse. Sometimes, I could convince others to sit over in the section by telling them that no one else seemed to be smoking. Other nights, the very mention of the possibility evoked the nastiest of nasty looks. Hit or miss, like I said.
On this night, we were having some success seating people in the smoking section. A four top for Bob - he had opened - and then a two top. Not bad for early on. When Sarah came on, she got a six top. Then a four top. The restaurant was filling up. But all with two and four tops. Or larger tops that wanted non-smoking. That left Sarah and Bob each with the open 8-seat round tops open. That's when a five person party came through the doors. I pulled Bob aside and asked him if he'd take it. He wasn't thrilled. I told him I couldn't be certain that there would be another table. He then acquiesced. But told me I had to take care of him. I chuckled and he left.
Over the next half hour, Sarah's tables flipped and she got 6 person parties at both her booths. Bob's tables, meanwhile, had squatters. Frustrated, he made himself a permanent fixture at the front board. Staring at the people who wouldn't leave his tables. Finally, one of his booths came free.
Before I continue, let me explain the situation of Bob's free booth. In the corner of the 'store' the booth was adjacent to the window. Its back was butted against a wall on the other side of which was a busboy station. That wall created a small nook for the busboys, true, but it was also where one of our emergency exits was located.
So, I had an 8 person party and a 2 person party. The 8 person party was first on the list. Now, the 8 person party could easily fit at Sarah's round top. But it could also fit - with an extension - at the 6 seater booth. Sarah came up to the front and spoke to me as if I were her best friend, 'Are you going to seat them at my table?' she spoke with her most enchanting voice. I didn't answer her. Instead - as I was wont to do at times - I took a stroll through the section to see how close the people were to finishing at Bob's other tables. Not close. When I returned, Bob pointed to his table and just about ordered me to seat them.
And there I stood. Finally, I realized what I had to do. I sat them at Sarah's round table eliciting many a purr and coo from her rancid tongue. And then, when Bob saw what I had done, he chewed me out in front of a crowd of hungry carnivores, spewing unprofessional filth and cursing my very name.
Why? Well, if I had put the extension on the 6 top booth, it would have blocked access to the busboy nook, and therefore the emergency exit. But no amount of explanation was capable of calming Bob. Nor would Sarah stop walking slowly by me, smiling as she went. Well, until the next day when she once again ignored my very existence.
Not a great night. Not even particularly poetically just. But an experience nonetheless. And what does my friend Brian always say but 'experience is what you get when you don't get what you want.'
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