Forgive me father, for I have sinned. I don't know if it's really a sin, but I may have done something to put someone in harm's way. Well, it wasn't really my fault, I guess, but I still feel bad about it, Lord. Okay, I don't really feel too bad about it because now that I think abut it, it really didn't have much to do with me at all. Am I responsible for something I knew nothing about? Never mind, God, I'm sure she's fine.
All servers deal with customers who have allergies. It's part of our job to accommodate requests so that our guests can enjoy their food without worry that their throats are going to swell up and they will asphyxiate because they ate a nut. Of course I don't want someone to die because I forgot to type in "nut allergy" on the ticket. I can only assume that if you kill one of your customers, the tip is going to be pretty low. It's never happened to me, but I'm just going to assume.
I don't think gluten is ever going to kill someone, but I don't want to be responsible for stomach cramps either. There are a couple of regulars at the restaurant who can never eat gluten. One lady in particular is adamant about it, which I totally get. What I don't understand is how she can ask me every single time if the sauce that goes onto the roasted chicken is gluten-free.
"No, ma'am. The sauce has flour in it. We have not changed the recipe since the last time you were here, I'm sorry."
"Oh, really?" She says. "That's a bummer, because I'm allergic to gluten. Like, if I even have a little bit of it, I don't feel well. It's horrible for me. Like I even have to have my own mayonnaise at home because if my husband gets crumbs in the mayo and I use it, I get sick. Blech! Toilet for hours, you know what I mean? So, can you make sure the kitchen knows to be very careful? Thank you!"
"Yes, ma'am, absolutely."
"Okay, so I will have the roasted chicken with no sauce, okay? No sauce. Like not even on the side. I will pay for it if I eat it. Thank you!"
"Yes, ma'am, very good."
Every time we go through this. Every. Single. Time. I got it, lady: you don't eat gluten. It gives you projectile diarrhea or whatever. Enough, already.
A few days ago, the phone rings at work, and being the dutiful employee I am, I answer it on the seventh ring since it seems clear that no one else is going to fucking do it.
"Thank you for calling This Restaurant, this is The Bitchy Waiter. How may I help you?"
A lady on the other end wants to hear the specials of the day. I rattle them off and she decides she wants to place an order to pick up.
"This is what I get for answering the phone," I think. "Now I have to ring this in under my number and I know she isn't going to leave a tip on a to-go order. Where do we keep the to-go boxes anyway? Fuck. I will never answer the phone I again!"
I place the order and rummage around around the bar to find all the to-go utensils for her curry cauliflower soup and roasted chicken breast, with no gravy. I think nothing about the order until 15 minutes later when the food is in the window. I put it all together and place it on top of the oven to keep it warm until the customer comes in to get it. The bartender will probably deal with it so I don't give it another thought.
A few minutes later, I see that the food is gone so I look over at the bar to see the bartender thanking the customer as she walks out the door with her soup and roasted chicken, with no gravy. As she passes in front of our window I see that it is the "no-gluten" lady and she is carrying a gluten-free roasted chicken and a cup of curry cauliflower soup that has gluten all up in it.
Forgive me father, for I have sinned. I don't know if it's really a
sin, but I may have done something to put someone in harm's way. Well,
it wasn't really my fault, I guess, but I still feel bad about it, Lord.
Okay, I don't really feel too bad about it because now that I think abut
it, it really didn't have much to do with me at all. Am I responsible for something I knew nothing about? Never mind, God,
I'm sure she's fine.
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