Promptings from Valhalla - 24. February 2018 Prompt - Food Disservice

Emotion challenge: embarrassment; must include fidgeting, squirming; plummeting self-esteem.

“Do you have any experience in the food service industry?”

“I worked in the dining hall when I was in college,” I replied, wondering how to make plopping ice cream scoops of mashed potatoes onto thick, ceramic plates sound like it qualified me to be a waiter.

“I see. And what were your duties in the dining hall?” The man interviewing me steepled his hands and regarded me with an expectant look.

“Well, I served food to other students, made giant vats of Jell-O, and sometimes helped with cleaning the dishes.”

“And how, exactly, did you serve the food?”

I fidgeted in my seat as I stared at the greasy, Asian man sitting across from me in the red, leather booth we occupied. Was this guy for real? It took all my willpower to repress my sarcastic side as I described the process of serving cafeteria slop in the most flowery light I could. Apparently it worked, since I was offered the job on the spot. Either that, or they were desperate for help.

It was good news, of sorts. I desperately needed a job. Moving across the country had drained my savings, and I needed a source of income in order to pay my bills. Unfortunately, I was in a position where I needed to take what I could get. I had searched for jobs in my field, but hadn’t found any yet. So that meant taking what was available. And what was available was waiting tables at China King Buffet.

Good social skills are essential to be a good waiter, as are good math skills. Unfortunately, I lacked both. After my third math error, Danny, the man who hired me—and manager of the restaurant—informed the collective waitstaff that addition errors were unacceptable and future mistakes would be deducted from our pay. My face blazed bright red and I squirmed in my seat as all eyes turned to me. It wasn’t fair to punish everyone for my mistakes. I wasn’t sure of the legality of the practice, but also wasn’t sure if there was any recourse. I needed every penny I could get, so anything subtracted from my meager earnings hurt.

I felt better when, after our meeting, Lei Ming, one of the waitresses who’d worked there for years, pulled me aside and said, “Pay no attention to Danny. He an asshole.” Then squeezed my arm and resumed her duties. Knowing I wasn’t the only one with that opinion made my day.

I learned pretty quickly that customers didn’t value the service of the waitstaff as much in a buffet vs other restaurants. The pervasive attitude was that they didn’t need to tip as much since they were the ones getting their own food. Forget the work we did bringing drinks, napkins, clearing away used plates, and making sure they had everything they needed. Or the fact we earned significantly less than minimum wage.

By my third day of work, I was already dreading the afternoon/evening ahead. I plastered a smile on my face and tried to quell the roiling in my stomach produced by Danny’s watchful glare. I double-checked my math on every receipt to make sure I wasn’t making any mistakes, which slowed down my service, resulting in lower tips. To make matters worse, my anxiety was in full swing, causing me to sweat, my hands to shake, and my attempts to interact with customers come off as stilted and forced. And the more I tried to stop it, the worse it became.

To top of my crappy day, about three hours into my shift, one of the most gorgeous men I’d seen in my life entered the restaurant and stood by the hostess’ station, waiting to be seated. The timing couldn’t have been worse—I saw him as I exited the kitchen with a dish someone had ordered off the menu. I stopped dead, causing the waitress following me to bump into me, sending the dishes in both of our hands crashing to the ground in a saucy, aromatic mess. She yelled at me in Chinese, prompting Danny to intervene.

My face flushed bright red and I wished the ground would open up and consume me. Danny said he’d inform the chefs of the re-fire and I was to apologize to the customers. The look of disapproval on his face told me this would not be last I’d hear of it. I sighed, figuring I’d be subtracting the cost of the ruined entrees from my salary, not to mention losing out on any tips from the customers who now had to wait twice as long for their food.

They were polite and pleasant as I stumbled through my apology, and I sighed in relief as I turned away from the table, wiping my sweaty hands on my black slacks, only to see that the hostess had seated Mr. Adonis in my section. We made eye contact and my mouth went dry as his cinnamon orbs stared into my own. It was several seconds past societal norms when I finally willed my feet into action and headed over to take his order.

He ordered the buffet, of course, and I nodded and headed to the drink station to retrieve Jasmine tea and a pitcher of water to fill his glass. He had already returned with a plate full of food when I arrived with his beverages. I set the pitcher of water down first, then the small cup of fragrant tea. I should have placed the tea down first, because—to my horror—my arm knocked into the full pitcher of ice cold water, sending its contents splashing across the table onto my hot customer’s lap.

He yelped, prompting every patron in the place to turn their heads as one to check out the disturbance. It also prompted the hawk-like Danny to swoop in to find out what the issue was. My face burned crimson as my eyes widened and I stammered out an apology. Danny’s glare pinned me like a bug in someone’s gross collection. I scurried to the waitstation to grab towels and napkins, then handed them to my soaking wet customer. I kept my gaze down and shifted my feet as he sopped at his drenched trousers. Then I realized I was staring at those trousers… one area in particular.

I looked up, expecting to find an angry expression, and instead found amusement. I smiled and exhaled, thankful he didn’t appear too annoyed. “Sorry,” I said. “I don’t usually give our customers baths.”

He laughed. “You couldn’t have chosen someone else?” He winked.

Danny bristled next to me. Man was I going to get it later. At this rate I was going be paying Danny for working tonight. “I am sorry for my staff’s ineptitude. I will find someone else to take care of you and your meal is on us.”

Us? He meant me. Danny fixed his death glare on me and stated, “I have had enough of your foolishness. You’re fired.”

I raised my eyebrows. Fired? Was he kidding?

The customer raised his hands. “Whoa… wait a minute here. He made a mistake. It’s hardly bad enough to lose his job over.”

“This is not his first indiscretion. He is clearly not meant for this line of work,” Danny stated. He held out his hand. “Give me your apron.”

Every eye in the place stared at me in a frozen tableau of awkwardness. A bead of sweat trickled down my nose and dripped onto my lip. I wiped my hands on my pants and swallowed. My body felt like it was going to self-combust from the heat radiating from my face.

“No.” I stated.

Danny raised an eyebrow.

“No,” I repeated. “I paid for this; I’m keeping it.” I straightened my back and looked Danny in the eye. “Go ahead and fire me. Now you can’t keep docking my pay for every little mistake, and I can look for a job in my field.” I turned away as the closest customers applauded, then turned back. “And you know what? You are an asshole.” I walked out of the restaurant, head held high.