Another story, same restaurant. Most of the time, I wasn’t actually a server, I was the dishwasher (which for those of you who have never worked in a full service restaurant, means that I was the dishwasher, busboy, prep cook, fill-in line cook, bar back, janitor, and once, I shit you not, electrician).
My best friend at the time was working with me, and we were they type who could finish each other’s sentences, and we enjoyed messing with everyone’s heads by carrying on conversations while we were not in the same place. Like, I’d be at the sink, he’d be bussing tables, and we’d just carry on our half of the conversation, pausing to fill in the gaps where the other would respond… and then turn around and reply to a response that we could not, in fact, hear, but knew what would be said. One waitress actually hung by the kitchen door to verify that we were, in fact, having one conversation. We were known as Thing 1 and Thing 2.
This particular story takes place during a music festival where they blocked off a huge part of downtown and put literal concert stages in the street. We were expecting a really busy night, and had a full staff… and of course, nobody showed up. They start sending people home, including me.
I decide not to go straight home… I futz around for a bit, and realise that hey, I’m kinda hungry, and I don’t actually have much food at home, nor a whole lot of money. But if I go back to work, I can order something and charge it against my next cheque.
Meanwhile, back at work, the entire city of Birmingham has showed up at the same time. They’re slammed, and regretting sending people home. The manager tried calling me, but I wasn’t home. So he turns to Thing 2 and says “Hey, can’t reach Thing 1 at home. Do you know how to get hold of him?”
Now, Thing 2 is kind of irritated at being asked how to contact a person who isn’t home in the days before cellphones, so in complete sarcasm, he puts his fingers to his temples, acts like he’s sending a telepathic transmission, and says “He’ll be here in five minutes.” The manager takes it as the sarcasm it was intended to be… for exactly four minutes and forty-five seconds, when I walk in the door. I could see from a block away that the place was slammed, and I don’t even need to be told that I’m going Back to Work.
The hostess just dropped her jaw and was like “HOLY SHIT HE REALLY DID IT.” It’s not hard to guess reasonably close to what happened, so I just keep a straight face and say “Yep.” and walk back and get to work.
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