The Misadventures of Doe and Terry....part 4

At this point, my fire is a flicker. I am burnt out. Several months of the same routine, grinding it out. I directly attributed this to being still in my young twenties and wanting to partake in activities with friends and family, etc. I had about three or four friends that lived across town in the bustling downtown area, hadn't seen them once. They went out each weekend and lived it up, while I was in a restaurant taking care of a staff of people older than me, but the maturity level of a pre-schooler and having to constantly be as sharp as a razor. Well that razor was dull and I was pretty stressed out. I recall an impromptu visit from the folks on a early weeknight for dinner. After dinner, I walked them to their car and they had all these concerns about my health. Said, I looked like hell. I did. And I felt like hell too. I had slowed down on the going out every night after work and opted to just go home. The only certain nights of after work intoxication were on Monday and Tuesday. Three for One on Monday and Two for one on Tuesday. Times were tough, had to be economical about the party scene.

The Staff, despite there bitchiness and occasional screwed up barometer for life, was in pretty good shape. Business wasn't as hectic in the early parts of the week as it had been so some people got the night off. Good and Bad with this crowd. The kitchen was better from the standpoint of having guys cross-trained to handle all the various stations so that some peeps could catch a break as well. I was one of six people who didn't have the luxury of a night off during the week. If we were open for business, we were there. Someone had to watch over things, just part of it. However, it would have been nice to have a break midweek or sometime. Get rested up for the weekend, maybe take a stab at having a social life or a relationship. Something to keep you fresh. All the same, it was nothing but business from the time you walked in that door to the time you left. The way it is and the way it should be. No time to play around, there is a job to be had here.

The boys in the back, keeping the place running, in dishland. Well, they ran like a top. Full speed ahead. They didn't take nights off. Not because they didn't want too, but because they couldn't. Every time we brought in a new guy to work back there, they ran him off. I think they had stated a claim on that piece of turf. This was there dishland. A great deal of pride on there part for wanting to be there. Maybe they didn't think the job would get done with a new guy, I don't know. I think they just like the idea of having money in there pocket. Lord knows, with the child support, it had to be rough on them. Not to mention, they had it setup pretty well with the fish all day, work all night routine. Even with the guys in dishland doing well, there was still some dissention between them and the waitstaff personnel. No biggie, happens in a lot of restaurants. Most waitstaff look down on the dishwashers because they feel they are beneath them and in the grand scheme of things, they really are, but that shouldn't be an issue. I am pretty sure none of the lightweights we had on the floor wanted to tangle with the muscle in the back. Wouldn't have been pretty. And to further infuriate the staff, Terry slapped up a tip jar on the pass of the dishland station. There was a lot of scoffing by some of the staff, not all, but some took this as a slap in the face. I thought it was brilliant. He should be getting tipped out at the end of the night by these people. They are making bank and he is doing some of the legwork that puts money in there pockets. Why not slide the boys a fiver or ten when you have a good night. Keeps the respect thing in check. Some of the front of the house peeps gladly did this and in return they would ask Terry or Doe for favor and more often that not, they did it. But they ones who didn't play ball, well they were just bitter asses who really just needed there asses whipped.

One waiter in particular really must have had it in for Terry. I guess the guy just didn't like Terry and all the love and praise that he received. Probably because this guy got none. He was a prick, he had a raucous case of halitosis, and by and large was a jackass when it came to all things wine related. He and I never really got along all that well either. He felt like since he knew more about wine than I did that he should be in charge of the cellar. He bitched enough about it that we finally gave him a key to the cellar and even let him assist in the inventory side of it. Anyway, he came up to me and too several other people and expressed his concern because he sensed the smell of pot on Terry. I told him, you probably do. Is he falling behind back there with the dishes? Are there any problems at his dish station? To which he replied, well no, but I thought you should know this. At this point, after all the crap we had been through just to have two guys here to do this job of washing dishes, I pretty much told him to focus on his work and I would handle Terry and Doe. So, I went back there and struck up a convo with Terry to see if I could detect any smell that resembled that of one who had been blazin. I didn't. All I smelt was sweat and fish. I promptly told him that he smelt like fish and that he need to make sure his hands were scrubbed better even though he had washed them. I knew that guy was trying to sabotage the dishland crew. He was that type. Eventually, as the afternoon turned into evening, Terry caught wind of this and he had some fun. As the front of the house crew was assembling for pre-shift meeting at the pass between the kitchen and the dining room, Terry came strolling by with the mop and bucket. He had just gotten done putting the finishing touches on the bathrooms. He took a long hard look at the waitstaff and belted out, "Can you smell me now?" Sorta his way of saying, kiss my ass, too all the people who had been spending so much time around him trying to catch a whiff to see if they could detect any hints of the green on him. Nobody ever messed with Terry again after that. Victory Dishland.