line cook 415 wrote beautifully about shift relations. But the front of the room is different. We're children in front of company. Although we don't have to hold hands all the time we can't swear or kick or throw the stuffed pony down the stairs.
So when I'm in the weeds and DL asks if the wines are ordered on the tray as they are on the slip (as they are in every wine bar, and have been at ours since I started working) I don't scream. I grit my teeth, shake my head, yes, and turn away. When J dervishes up to the bridge and frantically states he's going to claim one of my tables because they've just ordered bread, I don't swear. Just force, "I'm sure it'll work out," with a thin smile and turn away. When D and E interrupt staging a 6 part order to ask for water, instead of screaming, Get your own f-ing water! I swivel and turn the handle.
Usually around 15 minutes before closing the drinks are out. The food is out. And we're chatting with customers. Restocking bottles. Cleaning. And we're happy to see each other again. We might rehash events to clarify and ensure there aren't hard feelings. But mostly we're relieved the rush is over, the money's been made and we're about to turn off the lights. We're nice again. The difference between the back of the house and us is that we start swearing now, after the battle, and it's usually self-directed: "Sorry I was such an asshole. 7 were being dicks." "No, it's cool, man. I just over-f-cking-reacted." Swearing now because we can and swearing to relieve the pressure.
With such an obvious and persistent pattern you'd think we'd try to change the dynamic. Stress begets stress and ease begets ease. Why then don't we just promise to be easy with each other? I'm working on it.
updates:
- I think I'm done shaking mojitos. Let the soda do its job.
- If you're not from Boston, speaking loudly in what you think is a Boston accent using the words car, park and yard, is not funny. Ever.
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