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.