They said what??

This post could be just as easily been titled tales from beyond the pass going the other way....meaning the things that happen on the other side of the swinging door. Out in the dining room, with the seemingly normal people, the people that most cooks spend a lifetime avoiding. I've said it before, we really don't care for you. Showing up five minutes before closing, menu substitutions and vegan based requests just leave us with a disdain for you in general. I have a lot of respect for what a good server can accomplish and for sure they can work hard and having been one I can appreciate both sides of the line, but I prefer my world with the loud music, borderline criminal behaviour and a level of discourse that would make a new sailor blush.

Over the years I have heard some crazy stories around what happens out there, indeed I have a few of my own. Wanna hear them? No? Too bad, you're going to.

On my very first shift at my very first table as a server, at the ripe young age of 18, I thought I was going to have a death on my hands. Not caused by me, well...peripherally I suppose I could be blamed, but a death all the same. I had pestered my boss at the Golden Griddle to let me train a bit as a server. I would keep my cooks job but I wanted to pick up some extra cash waiting on tables. I figured if I can pull in $120 in tips bussing those tables, surely I could do well serving them. Thirty years ago I was not nearly as confident and wise, ahem, as I am now. I was pretty fucking green in the world and when combined with my gullibility, I was easy pickings fro a seasoned veteran like Slutty Gary. You see, Slutty Gary worked full time as some sort of paint chemist and he slummed with us on weekends as a cook and on Thursday nights as a server. The cash tips he earned were hidden from his wife for his extra curricular activities as a slut. He actually had a shagging van, tripped out with a bed, shag carpet walls and a sound system. I had no interest in seeing the back up close, hell I never even wanted a ride up front...save for once, funny story by the way. But I digress, Gary was to train me in the finer points of serving. I knew where everything was already and I knew the menu inside and out, I just needed direction on service culture and taking money from people.

There I am on a Thursday night, shined up shoes and a tie around my neck, ready to rake in the cash. We were doing some of the chores that the restaurant world is famous for when things are slow, wiping down chair legs and cleaning windows. Time to lean, time to clean you bastards. Yeah, wait while I count my $3.45 I just made for being here an hour then I'll wash your windows ass-hole. In walks an elderly couple that didn't bother with getting seated and took their place at a huge round table for six people, even though they occupied less space than my cat does now. Don't diss my cat!!! I follow Slutty Gary to the back and he says look, best way to learn this is to jump right in. Introduce yourself and go from there. Okee dokee says I.

Pen, order pad and a smile on my face at the ready as I stroll into the dining room to take my very first order. I didn't have the time to form the question on my lips when I heard from the elderly gentleman words that still haunt me "my wife is dying, she needs some soup" Uhm....blank look, twelve things going through my head right now and none of them are good. Uhm...."I'm sorry, can I..." is all I managed to get out before hearing again, "my wife is dying, she needs some soup" WTF!!!! Be right back with the soup. I don't care what kind we have you're getting a bowl of soup and not dying on my shift...live damn it live!!! I ran out some cream of something, placed it in front of her, relieved that she was still alive, and stood there. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to watch her eat or not but I was rattled. "Crackers please" comes the gravely voice of husband dearest. Right, be right back. The whole service went like that, I think I was at the table 25 times in an hour. The reward for my effort, twenty five cents. Hmmm, laser surgery is looking good. Of course Slutty Gary was laughing his slut ass off...these were regulars that he pawned off on me. Haha mother clucker. I had one table that night, ran my ass off and learned a valuable lesson...don't trust Slutty Gary.

Fast forward to 1994, actually not that much  time has passed. In six years I had become a chef, got married and was living in Lunenburg getting ready to open an Inn. I was working as a chef at a small restaurant in Mahone Bay on a quiet October night. If you live in any of these small towns you know what I mean by quiet. We had one table in all night. They had both ordered my special that evening, a lovely bouillabaisse that I was quite proud of. My ex wife and my mom were downstairs having a drink waiting for me to finish so I could get a drive home. Before sitting down with them I strolled over to the youngish attractive couple to ask how their meal was. So....you've read enough of my posts to know how I am by now, not quite right in the head for normal society and not so much with the filters, luckily I was still young and in some kind of control of my mouth. Young lady looks up at me and says "that is the best thing I have ever put in my mouth"......long pause for thought. Please understand how insanely hard it was for me not to look at her husband with a raised eye brow, or worse a smug smirk while looking down at him. Don't ever say something like that to a cook, are you nuts? That's like crack for a guy like me. I held it together though, kept my cool and didn't let them see me tremble while fighting back the urge to say, well anything. Why thank you, I'm glad you're enjoying your meal...thank you for visiting us.

You would think I would know not to relate the story to my ex-wife but I did...haha, she wasn't impressed. Oh come on...it was funny. So you see my loyal reader(s) the majority of the time I am handed material as if from heaven and I am simply reacting to outside stimuli, it's not my fault, I swear.

Go forth and smile
D