Every so often, the stars align in such a way that allows me to have a perfect storm of fun at work. It is rare indeed that I can write the word "fun" in the same sentence as "work" but it occasionally happens. A few nights ago was one of those nights. And the weird thing is I wasn't even drinking on the job. It is a phenomenon that is unexplainable when fun happens at work. It's like some kind of scientific formula that comes together in such a way that creates the perfect ingredients for laughter. It's as if a bluebird flies over a rainbow and poops out a bunch of confetti that sprinkles into the pot of gold.
I think what happened was the crew was one that I have not worked with in a very long time so it all seemed fresh; as fresh as basket of eggs from an organic, free-range chicken. We all hugged when we got to work and told each other how good it was to be together again after so many weeks of not working the same shift. Our group hug lasted for about ten minutes at which time we decided it was time to get going on our sidework. "I'll go get the ice," I said but then Tom insisted that he get the ice and then Alison demanded that she gets the ice. We all got the ice together walking into the ice room holding hands. We placed the 5-gallon bucket onto Alison's back and Tom and I loaded her down with ice for the evening. As we carried her upstairs, the hostess Liz floated into work. "Hello, all! Isn't it a glorious day to be at work?" she exclaimed. We all agreed and wrapped Liz into another group bear hug. Eight minutes later, we released the hug and carried on with our jobs.
The customers that night were all supreme models of human beings with every single one knowing exactly what they wanted and they each left at least a 25% tip. Most of them seemed to bus their own tables and they all paid quickly and got out allowing us to turn up the music and clean up the place. Tom popped open a champagne bottle and poured us each a glass of bubbly. "I'd like to propose a toast," he said. "To good co-workers and even better friends!" We all hoisted our glasses into the air and nodded in agreement. Within a few minutes the sidework was done and I heard the tell-tale sound of another bottle of champagne being opened to celebrate being finished.
At this time, someone knocked on the already locked door. We could see it was a pizza delivery guy who was holding five pies. I cracked the door open. "Uh, I was delivering pizzas to another office but I lost the address so I thought maybe you guys would want these? They're on the house." I thanked the pizza guy and gave him a bottle of Makers Mark as a tip. We devoured the pies along with three more bottles of champagne. Our night was done. We all hugged each other again and divided up our tips. We each walked with $275 for four hours of work. Sometimes the life of a waiter is fucking prefect.
And sometimes, it's a fucking dream that you have after eating a foot long Italian sub from Subway at 1:30 in the morning.
Click here to follow The Bitchy Waiter on Twitter.
Click here to find The Bitchy Waiter on Facebook.