|
"The Sky
is Falling"
Lo and
behold, the fire protection system at work malfunctioned, sending a
resounding, shrill, beeping noise throughout the restaurant, and spraying
two inches of a pink chemical foam everywhere. I missed the event, having
clocked out a half hour earlier. The way my co-workers described the
incident, was as if it were a trendy night club where you dance in the
bubbles 'til dawn on ecstasy. They couldn't rub it in enough that I had
missed out on the most memorable moment in waitressing history! I'd be sad,
sure… if it wasn't for the fact that I know, for certain, they all were
asked to stay a few hours past their shift to mop chemicals, throw away all
the food, wash down everything and sort the exposed silverware to be
rewrapped in those fancy little way restaurants do. To me, mopping,
touching, handling anything that isn't drinkable and is called a "chemical
solvent" is a biohazard, and I don't need a third nipple.
The
afternoon after this happened, the restaurant was alive and kicking with
guests who were ushered out the evening before with their complimentary meal
certificates. Evidently, if you sprinkle a little solvent on the heads of
customers, you pay for their dinner. I make a mental note to myself to
always, always sit beneath sprinkler systems while dining in the future.
Maybe even eat with my mouth open gazing skyward. I may get lucky... except
for the third nipple.
But
anyway…
While
serving my tables, I notice there's a spot of carpet along this one aisle
that always wants to trip me. I'll be walking and suddenly my foot seems to
stutter along the ground. Of course you have to look sophisticated when
doing this trick, and I've never taken ballet so grace is not my bag. I've
never fallen, mind you, but that little spot on the carpet makes my heart
race, coffee pot in hand, and I'm not finding it amusing. I notice a few
other wait staffers have stumbled in the same place and so I bring this up
to my boss. Maybe, just maybe, we should tack the carpet there. He thinks
it's just me being clumsy (the very nerve!) and so I decide to just get used
to the idea of doing a jig every time I walk past that section. I'll call
it my "Triple Lutz", maybe pose to the guests that in my off time I'm an
Olympic gold medalist in figure skating.
Now my
best friend, Julia, works with me. We seem to find ourselves slacking off
quite a bit yet we can "act" busy just the same… as everyone does, I'm
sure. But anyway… we're standing by the bar and she's laughing because she
just saw Rachel do the little "skip walk" over the carpet. I laugh too,
because it is funny that Rachel nearly fell on her arse carrying a tray of
Buffalo wings and because Julia's laugh is contagious. We start pointing at
Rachel, where the diners can't see, but she can, and we're tee hee heeing up
a storm. We're 14 years old all over again and it feels good. Ahhh… but
did you know that making fun of others for something you are guilty of is
bad karma? These next few lines I say to you will prove what happens when
you give karma the finger.
I'm
laughing, she's laughing, when suddenly a light fixture… the skylight type…
comes loose from the ceiling and whizzes down between our skinny, frail
bodies, missing our cute little feminine skulls by centimeters and crashing
at our feet. Who would have thought that ceiling lights and sprinkler
systems don't mix? We literally stare at each other wide eyed, down to the
shattered light between us, then back at each other again before we hug each
other crying... laughing, yet crying. Two mixed emotional lasses trying to
figure out if it was more horrific that we almost died, or too hilarious
that a light fell out of the ceiling. We say nothing to each other, just
boo-hoo and hug, hug and laugh. The lunatics have taken over the asylum.
What
does the boss say? Does he share in the moment that on that day, a
corporation could have lost two fine, outstanding waitresses? It would have
made the nightly news, for sure, but oh no. My boss wasn't clutching us to
his bosom, thanking the heavens we had survived this "death from above".
All he wanted to know is if any of the pieces of the light were salvageable.
Being
the outspoken lass I am, I instantly square my jaw and... okay, I say
nothing, but I do look for screws or bolts and I pick up a few shards of the
halogen lamp, but what I was THINKING… wow!
Actually, I was just wondering if I'd get a free meal certificate should
that light have cracked my noggin, but a girl has got to sound confident
some time, right? |
