The Expeditor: Part 1

"Runners are the chef's imperial guard: half breeds who dress like waiters, are paid out of FOH payroll, but whose loyalties lie (ideally) with the chef and kitchen." - Anthony Bourdain (Kitchen Confidential).

I'll be honest, completely honest, since the moment I began working in the restaurant business in 2008, I always wanted to be an expeditor. What's an expeditor? Well, an expo is the middleman of the Front of the House (FOH) and Back of the House (BOH). The vocal voice. The mediator. The line of communication between the servers and the kitchen. You deal with a lot of shit. You work the logistics of making sure the food is properly ordered and have it ready for the food runners who will take the food to its exact location. Seems like a lot? I'm OK with it. I like dealing with shit, it keeps me busy and makes the day go by faster. 

I'm one that preaches and recognizes individual success, well being an expo has been a work in the making for years. I originally applied at Orange Lake to be an expo without knowing what that meant. Hey, I needed a job and especially for a kid fresh out of high school, I needed to make money to pay for college. 

So I got hired as a host, which was a simple job. Sit people. Yes, it sounds that simple, but it wasn't. 

I was, without me knowing, scheduled to food run during my early stages at the Grilling Company at Orange Lake. I was pissed, mainly because I was used to the more do-nothing job of sitting people. Food-runners were how Anthony Bourdain said it, "Half breeds who dress like waiters, are paid out of FOH payroll, but whose loyalties lie (ideally) with the chef and kitchen." However, I didn't know that yet. We had an official expo, whose name was Trevor and he was a badass but also cool and had a unique surfer-redneck swagger.

He would expo on the weekends since he had another job during the week, so I got to see to myself how being an expo worked. It looked easy, but it wasn't. He told me what to food to run, sweep the garbage off the line, take out the trash, help with soup set-ups, heat up the bread in the oven, and assist expo with the minor things like salads and appetizers. He had me working, but I learned that that's what we're all here for; to work. 

I was fascinated with how the expo kind of ran the restaurant. He kinda bossed the servers around, and he also kind of bossed the kitchen around. Sole power, plus he wore a chef coat. That's it! I'll admit, I was in it for the chef's coat, BUT I knew I had to work for it, and who knew it will take five years. 

Trevor would quit being an expo and try serving to make more money. Yes, expo's didn't get paid ideally a lot of money, servers and even food runners sometimes made more money on tips then what an expo would get in their weekly paycheck. But it was just a goal I wanted to reach so I can feel satisfied, but that just contradicts everything because I'm never satisfied. I'm used to hustling and grinding and just working my ass off. 

My first break at being an expeditor came a year into working at the Grilling Company, Chef Ivan called me up one summer -- when I was off from school -- if I can assist the food runner since they expected a large number of covers for the evening. He did, however, mention that he wanted me mainly in the window assisting with something and that job entailed to expediting the tickets.

I was excited, proud, and a bit confused. Here's a chef who's is throwing me into the fire, the pit of wolves, without any proper training. I asked myself, could this be a stunt from the kitchen, so they can make fun of me? Or do they really see somewhat of potential in me? Till this day, I will never know.

So I expedited for that evening, and I dropped the ball big time. My board got filled up with tickets and I realized that the restaurant was on a 45-minute wait while there was more than 50 open menus. One runner. One expo. WE WERE SCREWED!

The tickets just kept on coming and coming to the point where I let the ticket printer keep going till it hit the floor. I fell into the weeds and to be clearly honest, I felt like I had no other way out. Esther, who was a veteran cook, began shouting and yelling "FOOD RUNNERS!" and I stood there like an idiot not doing nothing and letting the window pile up with plates. But it's natural to fall into the weeds. That shift would also mark the last time that I would step foot by the window.

So I food ran, while the chef's expedited the tickets. Chef Ivan left the company and along came a new chef that I had to prove my worth to. Chef Peter. Now, Chef Peter was like no other chef I ever worked with. He was disciplined who knew his food. He was passionate and extremely strict. He ruled the kitchen with Una Mano Dura.

He eventually gave me the window of opportunity to expedite again, but this time it was harder, but I had experience with me. Having failed once, I knew what I had to improve on. Yes, we're at the point where Kathy (The legendary expo, who I will never fill her shoes) was the full-time expo, but as she left the Grilling Company, someone will rise to the occasion.

By this time I learned the proper way to expedite by saying the following terms:

When wanting french fries in the fry basket, you say: 

• Drop fries please (Emphasis the PLEASE, cooks have feelings too) 

When you notice the fries are done, which common sense approx. 2-3 minutes, you say: 

• Sell me fries please, or sell me fries at will (that's if the cooks are doing something else)

When the cooks or chef(s) need something, you say: 

• HEARD! Ex: I need three cups of water please! ... Heard!

When you want to know the status on the ticket or food item: 

• Can I get an ETA (Estimated Time Arrival) on the Ribeye, PLEASE?

If somehow you're lost on the board (the rail that holds the tickets): 

• Chef, I'm a bit lost, what is your lead ticket, please?

And finally, whenever you need something: 

• Sell me the Filet please. 

Those are the rules I was taught and picked up. 

As Kathy left, I was sure I was next in line for the expo position, but nope. Whoever did the hiring, hired two expeditors. Well, actually one but the other one I'll get to it. 

One of the expeditors was cool, a Brooklyn kid, but no experience doing this job at all. He wouldn't last long and no long story here, but short, he ended up quitting. The other one, however, pissed me off and undermined my goals.

You see the FOH management hired a short girl, no people skills, immature. She was an aspiring cook who wanted to be a chef. She was 19 but wasn't hired BOH since she had no culinary degree, so she took a FOH position that was closest to the kitchen, which at that time was food running. I was doing deliveries at this point but always assisted with food-running because hosting was just too boring for me. The restaurant at this point was divided. FOH went that way and BOH went that way.  

What came next triggered me to the fullest. I come into work and realize she's wearing a chef's coat and expediting. WHAT THE!? WHAT THE DFSKFJSKLFJSKLFNDSKJDSKLGJSDF SALDJS FLKDSJFLKDSF DSLKFJDSLFJDS LJDLKGJDLGJD LKGJDF LKGJDLKGJS DKSA;D KA

Sorry, but I was angry. I've put in the time and a lot of work to be where she is now, and she gets that honor only two weeks into working at the Grilling Company. But her stay at the top didn't last long. She was a horrible expeditor, didn't know how to speak to the kitchen in a positive manner. Always had food in her window, sold the wrong tickets. Hell, her own food runner didn't even listen to her and that's bad.

You see, and expeditor and food runner are a team. The expeditor is the captain of the ship while the runner is the one steering the ship. Once your food runner disowns you, that's mutiny right there.

It came to a point where she sucked so bad that I couldn't stand to watch. It was a Friday and she was falling into the weeds after a late 9 pm rush hit the Grilling Company. Tickets stacking and plates piling the window, so I took initiative. I pushed her off the line and with a serious face, I told her and the food runner to take these trays to these tables. Bam, Bam, Bam and Bam, I started clearing the board. She was pissed, and later sarcastically told me I did a good job. Little did she know, her time as expo was coming to an end. 

Chef John liked the way I worked the window, and little did I know, Chef John, Chef Peter, and my area manager were in the works of making me the new official full-time expeditor. 

I'm currently in this journey, but like a good cook/friend told me; "You deserve this kid, I've seen you come here as an 18-year-old kid wanting this position really bad, you've been wanting this for a long time and your time is here."   

Mijo

It was 2010, and I've been running for almost a year now. My body and mind was used to how things worked in the kitchen, and signaled when a server was bound to fuck up, it became natural. Gaga and I were the only runners in the evening shift at the Grilling Company and with the new manager Erick — Or how I liked to call him 'Obama' — looking to hire reinforcements for spring break, he would end up hiring somebody who would wind up as a brother to me in the GC.

Obama (Erick) definitely brought change to the GC during his first few months there. His first order of business, hook-up the hostess band. We already had a hot-gorgeous Ecuadorian hostess name Shanna, but I have to admit, the uniforms the hostesses wore were just awful and atrocious; An old lady look, no cleavage, big-ass pants so an ass shaped couldn't be formed. A change of style for the hostesses was brought, where an all black uniform showed the sexiness of our beautiful hostesses.

The biggest change that would occur a few months into Erick's time as a manager. He would hire two new guys; One was a tall, skinny, black guy. The other would be another tall, funny looking version of me; David Campo.

I'll admit, I didn't really like him in the beginning, matter of fact, I hated him because my hours were being cut, and he all of a sudden became the sweetheart of the Grilling Company, a position I held on until...well. Who does this wise ass think he is!!?.. A rookie getting more time than a veteran, that was just a slap in the face towards me. I underestimated him though. There came a time when Obama asked me if I can train him to food run while I expedited the tickets. You see, Kathy who was our original and the legendary expeditor hasn't begun working with us yet, so the runners would expedite and run the food; a huge pain in the ass because if we weren't back to the window to pick up another order, a dumb ass server would stick their hands in the window and pull whatever food they thought belonged to them.

I told Obama that I'll take the honor of training young david, knowing my sole intentions were to guard the window from the servers. David was a host most of the time, something I did before I took the role of a food runner. The hostesses were all hooked up with uniforms, however, the males lacked new uniforms and David's uniform was just a no-no to food run with.

First day of David's official day of food-running, my man wore a white shirt, with a black tie along with a black sweater vest. Black dress pants and dress shoes which in a restaurant world is a big NO-NO! and in my world a big 'LOL.'

I couldn't fault him, it was his first time working in the food and beverage industry, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt. It was the calm before the storm and I was teaching him how to carry multiple plates and how to carry a large tray full of plates. He was a quick learner (wise old Asian man voice) but hilarious at the same time. He was from New Jersey, I was from New York and the reason why I despised him in the beginning was because there's an unwritten rule that New Yorkers - the assholes that we are -- have a sense of showing those bastards from across the river who's boss.

Business was picking up and the cooks were putting countless of plates in the window. The noise around the GC was picking up and I looked at the David and told him it was showtime. I can remember the look in his face as he was ready to take the plates of food to their exact location. He was fidgeting, not knowing the plates were hot, his finger tips got a hold of the edge of the plate and next thing you know, OUCH!! I couldn't help it, I wanted to burst out laugh, but I held it in. He was nervous and what came next was the tray challenge; seven plates in one tray. I told him what I was taught. Grab the tray, pick it up with one arm while the other arm grips the tray for leverage. As soon as that tray goes up, for comfort lay it on your shoulder; I'm a lefty, so I laid the tray on my left shoulder while carrying the tray jack in my right hand. Mind you, he was wearing dress shoes, so I hoped there wasn't a slippery spot. Overall, he did great, a B+.

Towards the end of the night, I told him that I sonned him, a term we 90s kids say that means we fathered you in something so you were sonned. He countered back with calling me 'Mijo' which means son in Spanish and given he was a year older than me. Till this day, we son each other, but deep down I sonned him on his first food-run. Next day at work we greeted each other by saying the following:

Me: What's good son?
David: Mijo, what's good?
Me: Chillin' kid, you know you're my son in this game.
David: Mijo stop it! We know I'm your papi.

Through time I would drop the 'Son' term on him and called him 'Mijo." By the way, mijo is pronounced like 'Me-Hoe' not 'My-Joe' don't ask me how, but that's how it is. We would form a bromance, he would tell me the girls he's currently fucking, I would tell him about problems between and my current girlfriend at that time were having. We talked bullshit. But we were competitors. A new girl just began working at the GC, blonde girl who was extremely beautiful. I was determined to bone that, meanwhile Mijo had the same intentions. I was recently single, so to pull something like that was hard since I've been out of the game for a while, but Mijo was single and had that advantage.

Summer 2010 arrived and Mijo for sure got a hand in blonde's pie alright, that bastard. Obama left as manager by that time, serving as manager for only six months. A busy night at the GC was coming to an end and we chilled in the back with the blonde mistress. Blonde and I were together alone at one point where we were flirting as she had her hand on my legs almost close to my crotch, she was willing and I was willing. Mijo comes along and pulls off the greatest robbery since Al Capone. Grabs her and she gently sits on him. We're all talking, at the same time I'm thinking you bastard. Blonde starts talking about strange places she's had sex in and I'm thinking we could of fucked by the walk-in only if Mijo didn't come by. I left, leaving Mijo and blonde to be alone. The next day, he comes up to me and tells me that they went to a bar afterwork and got it in. Good for him, but dammit, only showed I had to improve my game.

It was the beginning of 2012, new things and new challenges awaited me, and I was bound to conquer all of them. Same shit, different day it was at the Grilling Company. I rarely worked with Mijo since I worked weekends because I went to school Monday through Thursday, so he worked on my days off. We would, from time-to-time, go out for a drink and talk our bullshit. During that time, I was healing from a 3-year relationship I had with a girl which ended in its demise, so a wingman was needed and Mijo was that guy. We went out to clubs, bars anywhere social just to talk to women and have a good ass time. But later on, I would lose my wingman after he reconciled things with a former lover of his, leaving me to fight this battle of depression alone.

I was depressed for much of 2012, coming out of a three year relationship with someone who was special to me, the world to me, was tough. Yes, Mijo had his girl, but to be quite honest, things didn't change yet. Pay-per-view fights at the Ale House, roaming Downtown Orlando or even beer pong at someones house were positive moments and brought a slight bit of happiness to me, true friendship.

It was my 22nd birthday and I was scheduled to work a dinner shift at the GC. I was pissed the fuck off, angry any type of negative adjective could sum up what I felt. Mijo was already working in the morning at his other job, so asking him to work on my birthday sounded a bit too much and exhausting and trust me, working a triple shift in the restaurant business is draining, plus I needed him because regardless I was planning to go out that night and I needed his energy to party and drink the fuck on.

I worked, but fuck it, I was getting paid and since it was past Labor Day, the whole resort was dead and low in occupancy. I did, however, make $80 in tips so things weren't all that bad. My good-old best friend since moving to Florida; Carlos moved back to Florida since moving to San Antonio, Texas three years earlier.

I left the GC, and got home, bathed, changed and left the house looking to party the night away. I was talking to one girl, who at this exact moment has my heart, asking her to come to Terrace 390 since that is where I'll be celebrating my birthday, but sadly she was sick and couldn't make it. My cousin Stephanie, however, brought a friend; A white girl from Chicago and boy was she banging. We all rode in Carlos' car, heading to downtown. Carlos was a street racer, a need-for-speed Puerto Rican racer who lived life in the fast lane. He was swerving, it was around 11pmish, switching lanes, cutting other cars until.....BLOOP! The bastard popped one of his back tires.

He felt bad since he thought that ruined my birthday night, but I didn't fault him. Accidents happen and the good thing was we were all okay. Mijo called me asking my whereabouts and I told him we were stuck in Interstate 4, and without hesitation  he asked me where in I-4 was I located and he came right up to save the night. Carlos was able to get things fixed, however, I would ride along Mijo while my cousin and banging friend tagged along.

As we entered the club, I noticed my cousins friend, who I will finally name; Ashley, grabbing me and asking me how old was I turning. She was about 19-20-years-old, so the thought of me turning 22 might have triggered an interest. So I executed. Carlos arrived just in time and Mijo and I discussed the shift at the GC and if I was going to do something regarding Ashley. I did, and we danced and grinded for most of the night. With all the loud music, she whispered in my ear, where I still could not hear, and all of a sudden, she grabbed my arm and lead me toward the bathrooms. Next thing you know, she tells me happy birthday and we start making out. I never had sex in a club, but I was sure enough ready to partake in the legendary practice. A club full of nosey people and to find a place to do it, was impossible, so I told her to hold on to that. Mijo and Carlos kept on buying me drinks and my cousin Stephanie and I danced some merengue songs. Moments into the song, I feel someone grab me away from her and as I turned around, it was her. She told me she was sick and couldn't make it, but wow did she surprise me. I gave her a huge tight hug and quickly began dancing with her. She brought her friends, one for Carlos and, well Mijo had his girl, so I guess Carlos was the lucky bastard that evening.

That night was a night to remember. Good friends, good company equaled an overall good night.

As I'm finishing this story, I can only help to remember the moments me and my friend have had. Towards the beginning of 2013, David and his girlfriend got serious. So serious that it resulted into them expecting a baby. Matter of fact, the baby is bound to be born or already born, thus marking a new beginning. Well, you're wondering the ending of his ride in the Grilling Company, right? Well Mijo always had a passion to hustle and grind. He was studying and focusing on getting his real estate license. The Grilling Company was still there for him and he got the promotion to be the official expeditor, which was good because it paid more by the hour and got to be beneficial when the baby comes. Well, management dropped the ball on him. Apparently, he wasn't getting paid what he deserved to be paid. I'm talking about a guy who is no longer a rookie, but a veteran, and he isn't getting the fair treatment. I understood David leaving, I mean he had too. He had/has a family to look after, so after management kept on putting his request for a raise on hold and ignoring his requests, he put his two-week notice and left. A move that I was critical of because dammit, who else am I going to talk bullshit with? I'll say it today, tonight and forever, with the inclusion of Gaga. Mike Gramajo and David Campo are the best food runners in Orange Lake Resort.

I wish you nothing but the best, I know you'll be a great father and I can't wait to meet the little guy. As I'm finally finishing this story, I have a cold bottle of Bud Light right next to me. Cheers to this new life and I'm here for anything.

The Weeds

My longest day was yet to be over, but this one hour I had was meant to sleep. 

School and my internship at the soccer team kind of drained me physically and my body was asking for sleep. I had an extra hour to spare before heading my way towards the Grilling Company and work a busy shift during a busy, also cold, spring break. 

The hour nap was well needed and to be clearly honest, it felt better than having and finishing sex. I got up from my cozy bed, mouth-washed and put my black uniform on and made my way out the house, but before I made the turn to go towards Kissimmee, a stop to Starbucks was needed and a Grande iced coffee would sure get me out of this sleepy mindset. 

I entered the gates, not really gates, I just want to make the entrance scene look good, of Orange Lake and same shit different day. Don’t get me wrong, spring break surely enough made many of my colleagues at the Grilling Company happy since they made money, and I somewhat made some money, but not the maximum goal I wanted since school got in the way.  

The back of the house did a tremendous job not falling into the weeds and that was the objective 24/7, 365 days in the Grilling Company; Objective: Don’t fall into the weeds. 

Today, though, was the complete opposite. 

Ms. Kathy was transferred to manage Legacy Sports Bar & Grill, another restaurant in Orange Lake, and our newest expeditor was Sous Chef John while Peter, our Chef De Cuisine would be in the line helping the cooks put the orders in the window, so Gaga and I would run them. 

Chef John was rather new to the Grilling Company and I wasn’t used to his expediting since I’ve worked with Ms. Kathy in the window for three years, but this guy was something else. It was peculiar, I didn’t know if Chef John was talking to himself or to the cream of mushroom soup which was in located in front of him in the expo line. Matter of fact, I thought I was the weirdo, guess not. 

Spring break, however, was reaching an end and what better way to end spring break but with a bang, right? And that bang so happened to be during Holy week. 

As 5:00 p.m. arrived, the hostess opened up the floodgates and the night would be one for the books. 

A party of eight, two six tops. While back in the patio, a party of 15 sat down and a party of nine adults starting filling up the front section of the patio. Forty-four open menus were amongst the big parties not including small parties that have four people or less, so technically 60 open menus to open up the dinner shift hour. 

Boy oh boy was the window filling up with tickets and the small kitchen with four cooks were about to go on a roller coaster ride. More worse is a big restaurant with two runners, I just finished gulping and put my game face on, crunch time it was. 

The crunchy, clustering noise of the ticket machine printing out tickets was the soundtrack of the shift forget the entertainment for the evening. For a second, it looked like Gaga and I had everything under control. The food was coming out at the right time, I was taking the food to the right table and the servers were on point. 

I decided to take the extra effort by getting more ice and bringing plates to the line. The night was going great, and I thought I was going to get cut early because it seemed like these 60 open menus was just a pop, so I thought. 

I look back to the front of the restaurant, and not only did my jaw drop, but my eyes opened up. The lobby was full and the hostess was bound to sit more people without having communication with the kitchen on what the hell is going on. 

The food was still coming out at a good time, but the faster the food came out, the faster I had to run back to the line to take more food. I was a machine though, and I was pulling tickets and my only armor to fight the battle of the weeds was a tray and a tray-jack.  

Good Friday it was and these hoards of tourists were ordering everything. Sushi, ribs, chicken, mahi mahi, salmon, Alfredo pasta, Pescatore pasta, god dammit my tray was full of so much food. I need to relax and take a breather and fight my way out, fight my way out of the weeds. The floor in the line was full of dropped fries and pickles and food kept piling up on top of other plates. may-date, may-date. 

Making my way towards hell or should I say patio, I see nothing but little rugrats running around and I’m hoping this heavy tray full of heavy plates isn’t dropped because of these little twerps running around. I arrive to the last table in the patio, D24. 

Not even one-second and bam, “How long does it take to get drinks here? You guys are really moving slow. I ordered my drinks a long time ago,” as I slowly bite my tongue, I tell the guests that “We” do apologize, but let me put the food on your table and I will go check at the bar on why your drinks are taking “Forever” 

Leave table D24 and I hear an obnoxious little white boy, “Excuse me! What channel is the NCAA game on? It’s March Madness!” deep in my mind I have so many thoughts. 

1. Are you fucking kidding me? 2) It’s college basketball! Who the hell cares about watching amateur players shoot 10-45 in the field! And 3) I don’t know the channel, nor have a remote control to switch the television to your desired channel, I have fucking food, your food to run! 

I get back to the line, the tickets that have printed look like a yellow snake that has taken over the line. 

Many chefs and cooks say that the “Weeds” is just a word, a state of mind and no matter what, those that are in the weeds will always find a way out. So fight it Mike, fight it. 

A wedding and a 20 year wedding anniversary have just sat. There’s no way out. The clustering noise is keeps ringing, stop the ringing. 

A Day in the Line

As I drive down U.S. 192, I can only think about what type of Friday night will it be at the Grilling Company. I guess the bad thing about Orlando is it relies so much on tourism, as much as I hate to admit it. There are slow nights, however, when peak season arrives, it's madness all over the damn resort.

Just as I get passed the entrance gate of Orange Lake Resort, I see the parking lot full of cars, only to indicate that it might, just might, be a busy evening. Of course with the damn heat and sun, that will only attract more business. In the end, I can only acknowledge that's the nature of the business.

I enter the Grilling Company and just before I clock in, I see the prep cooks finishing up, only to hear someone singing a Lady Gaga song, which in that case, it's none other than Johnny Gaga, or we can just call him Gaga for the remainder of the story, since he's the one I usually work with on the line.

I'm glad I get to work with great people, most of all, the expeditor, Ms. Kathy. With her strong, general like, approach, she makes sure everyone in the line does not fall into the weeds when business is kicking our ass.

Don't get me wrong, I love what I do. I don't see myself working at a restaurant all my life, but I'm thankful that I'm able to live this experience because it will shape the person I will be tomorrow.

Gaga and I, well mainly me, run into the dish pit to get all the plates, ramekins and cups that will be needed for the night. Gaga just finished working a lunch shift and is due to work dinner, so the floor is filled with dropped fries, tickets and napkins. Ms. Kathy makes sure her runners are on tip-top shape before we get slammed by the hoards of Disney tourists.

A line sweep is conducted and as the hostess opens the doors, the damn coyotes enter the restaurant looking like they never ate before. Of course, we're known in the resort for our "all-you-can-eat ribs," so it makes sense that these pigs have no brain, but do think with their stomachs.

Two parties of 6 and a couple 4 tops. Oh, I can't forget to mention that we have an outside patio, which is connected to the pool, so that will only attract more people. Two runners and a restaurant that seats overwhelmingly 250-300 people. Think about it, if it's a busy, busy night, forget the servers, the runners are leaving pretty happy after the shift.

On top of that, I do room service deliveries, so that's more money on the side. However, my boss planned the evening right by calling in another runner, just in case we get our asses handed to. It's not that we can't take the heat, cause we can, but the damn patio is like the gambling pot of the Grilling Company. One fuck-up from a server in the patio, and there goes some revenue flying out the window.

I like to think of the patio as a war zone. There is no control of seating, even though there is a hostess, but the cliche "the customer is always right" throws that fucker out the window. Servers have their own sections of the patio, so if one six top decided to set way back in the patio, which lets say thats section 2, then another six top sits next to them, same section, and then a 10 top right across, also same section, then the server is fucked!

"But Mike, can't another server come and help?" Well, let's say the other server is in the same predicament, theres no chance at all. The good thing about it is the menu in the patio is short and simple. Yet, there's always the one screw-head who wants the actual menu from inside the dinning room. You can be a party of six and all five of them order chicken tenders and wings, which makes it an easy order to take out, but one dumb ass wants to order a well done New York steak, there goes a quick ticket out the window. And trust me, most tourists are not very patient.

The patio is full and it seems like there are about 45 open menus, not counting whats inside the dinning room. The kitchen is about get hit, real bad. David, the other runner comes in, and it's show time. I like to say that he's my twin, but of course, I'm the good looking one.

Did I forget to mention we have a full sushi menu? Tourists love sushi, especially hipsters, no offense.

If there is one thing though that pisses me off during a busy night, it's the table with allergies, gluten especially! Yeah, go ahead and take our sous chef away from the line as we're fighting a battle. Orange Lake seems to attract gluten allergy people because that's all we get when these fuckers ask to speak to a chef.

Looks like Kathy is going to need all 3 runners to take food to a party of 20 that sat not to long ago. Good thing the servers tell us before leaving who is at seat one, which will prevent us from auctioning out the food, good job servers.

As I lay my tray down on the jack, David and Gaga come just behind me. We take a glance look at the tickets and begin putting the plates on the table. A quick in-and-out mission, but wait did I just hear excuse me sir? Oh wait, I did. Looks like some of the guests needs some refills in their drinks. Of course, knowing the good person that I am, I try to remember every drink order. Just when they're done, I look for Chong, who is waiting on the table. I do a complete memory dump and run back to the line before Kathy chops my ass up, too late. As Kathy chops my ass, David can't stop to laugh and Gaga is dancing and singing, not cool.

One of the hostesses run up to me to hand me a delivery order, which is good because I get to leave from the on going mayhem. Let's see, three medium rare NY steaks, Cedar Plank Salmon, Smothered Chicken, Coconut Shrimp, Grilled Mahi Mahi, and oh my favorite, Gator Bites. The check alone is about $100 something, so I'm looking at a $10-15 tip, guests don't usually tip me the full 20% unless I'm actually serving them, but $10-15 is not bad at all, and since I'm a full time journalism student, thats even better.

I set up my delivery because Kathy is too busy expediting the window full of tickets, and I just finished pissing her off, so I don't want a ticket with my name on it pissing her off even more, But the good hearted lady that she is, she boxes up my last steak and says, "hear you go hun" I love working with her.

Now the speed limit in the resort is about 23 mph. Kiss my ass, I want a good tip, so the sooner the better, and these guests better appreciate and value my speed and efficiency. I arrive to the room, and I realize these guests are from England. No matter how much tourists piss me off, I like conversing with people, knowing where they are from and just random thoughts. Now that sounds a bit hypocritical coming from me, but I'm a people person.

Dialogue is exchanged, with a nice $25 tip and a cheers to end my delivery. That's how its suppose to be.

I speed my way back to the Grilling Company, and I quickly pick up a tray full of ribs. I take it to table 41 and the in-and-out mission is as easy as it could be. Luis, who is serving the table, brings the ketchup and tells me good job. I help him pre-buss the table by taking away some appetizer plates and run the tray to the O'Neil, the dish washer. O'Neil asks me how the Madrid-Barcelona game went, knowing that I'm a hardcore Real Madrid fan, I tell him we won 2-1 and Lionel Messi is basura.

The business begins to slow down. Gaga was just cut, but I'm sure he'll be waiting to ask me for a ride to either Devenney's, a local Irish Pub, or the 19th Hole, another local bar. David and I begin to clean up the line and talk bullshit. A nice cold pint of Miller Lite at the Ale House sounds good right about now. Ms. Kathy leaves the remaining tickets in the hands of me and David.

I make sure I get tipped by the servers, and I make my way to the Ale House. The night in the Grilling Company has faded. A cold pint of Miller awaits me. Until next time, Saturday that is.

Story inspired by Anthony Bourdains novel "Kitchen Confidential: Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly"