This never happens. But sometimes it does.
Tuesday night at Tupelo's is Wine Night. 50% off all bottles of wine. Its a hell of a deal and people pile in through the doors every Tuesday. Last night was no exception. We had a slow start but once we filled up, we stayed that way until the sky opened up and unleashed a huge thunderstorm that caused flash flooding all over our little town. In a matter of minutes Churton Street became a class 4 rapid river. I wished for a raft.
My story begins 40 minutes or so after closing. The restaurant was mostly empty except for a few table campers, folks whom had long since paid their bill and were now just enjoying each others company and conversation. Those of us employed there were buzzing around like bees to a hive, each one knowing exactly our chore. The bartender was stocking the bar, servers were rolling silverware for the following days lunch service and cleaning up the wait station. The kitchen staff had their arms elbow deep in soapy buckets scrubbing chrome and tile while the dishwasher was barricaded in his station by a mound of silverware, stacks of glass racks and dishes. I was wiping down tables and preparing to put the chairs up in the main dining room when I heard a knock on our glass front door. I walked over, curious, and opened the doors to see two women standing before me.
"Can you take two more, Please?" One of the women asked.
"Oh Ladies, I'm sorry, are you here for dinner?"
They both nod at me.
"I'm afraid the kitchen is closed, the grills are off and I'm pretty sure most of the food has been wrapped and put away. But let me run and double check with my manager, please come in and just wait right here a second."
Let me just take a second to explain what an anomaly this is. Not the people showing up after closing; people try to sneak in to eat after closing all the time, and time after time we have to turn them away. Not because we are hateful or lazy but because we are closed, the food had been put away and the employees are now busily doing the hours of work required to prepare for tomorrow and shut down for the night. If you pop your head in at closing or even 5 minutes after closing you'll likely be offered at least salads or appetizers but 40 minutes after closing its a wonder, a flat out oddity that I even considered letting them in. But I did.
So I run to the back and find my manager, I tell her about the ladies at the door and basically ask if we can serve them desserts and coffee a consolation prize, of sorts. She says of course.
When I return to the front of the house to offer the women dessert and coffee they immediately ask: "Can we have dessert and wine?
I smile and say "Of course, did you know its wine night?"
I seat them at one of my tables in the bar area all the while they are thanking me for letting them in. As it turns out they were on their way home to Virginia when the storm hit and decided to pull off the highway and get a hotel room for the night. They opt for a bottle of Chardonnay and a Creme Brulee. They sip their wine and share their Brulee but one of the ladies is visibly upset. Shes crying, quietly, into her napkin while her friend caresses her arm and softly speaks words of comfort. I didn't mean to but as soon as I saw her tears I began to eavesdrop, nonchalantly. She had just lost her brother or her mother, I missed the first syllable. The funeral had been yesterday. and now she was just supposed to go home and go back to work and go on... living. How was she supposed to do that? She didn't know how to do that. I didn't know how she was going to do that either. But I knew she would.
I stood there at the computer and thought about how sensitive I was in the first weeks after my sister's passing. I was weakened by the thought if the world just going on and on without ever stopping to take note of my heartache. My first shift back to work was the most difficult. I had a customer who had ordered a chicken club sandwich with no bacon onion or bun. What came out of the kitchen was a chicken breast with cheese lettuce and tomato, just what she had ordered. Upon seeing her dinner she let out a heavy sigh and looked at me: "This has cheese on it."
"Yes, ma'am. it does."
"I didn't want cheese, didn't I tell you I didn't want cheese?"
She's obviously annoyed with me. She thinks I'm incompetent. I offer to take her plate back and have the kitchen "fix it" when her husband chimes in telling her to just scrape the cheese off. She's poking the chicken breast with her fork contemplating her options and in my head I'm screaming:
ARE YOU KIDDING ME LADY, ITS A SLICE OF CHEESE! MY SISTER JUST DIED FROM CANCER AND YOUR GIVING ME A HARD TIME ABOUT A FUCKING SLICE OF CHEESE, IF THAT'S YOUR BIGGEST PROBLEM CONSIDER YOURSELF LUCKY, SHUT UP AND EAT YOUR DAMN CHICKEN.
Of course this woman had no idea of what I was going through. I like to think if she did she would have adjusted her attitude in some way. And for all I know this woman could have been dealing with some major hardship herself. Maybe that was why she got all ornery over a slice of cheese. Or maybe she just really hates cheese.
The ladies at my table pay their bill and stand to leave. As I'm thanking them I give the grieving woman and knowing sort of half smile. She says "You have been very kind, thank you for not turning us away." It struck me as as quite a coincidence that this woman and her friend ended up in our town, at our restaurant at my table grieving over the loss of her loved one. Maybe it wasn't a coincidence at all. Maybe it was a reminder to treat others tenderly, because you never know what kind of hand their life just dealt them.
No comments:
Post a Comment