On the Job

It's Friday night. Seven o'clock. Brand new chain restaurant in a backwater town. Two hour wait. I'm the certified trainer on the floor, with the busiest section. You get the idea. I approached the table with some trepidation. After all, we were only a week past the annual "make yourself a glutton" promotion at a rather well known Italian chain restaurant we'll just call the Oregano Farm to protect the guilty. I see before me a family which had become weekly regulars during the long running stress fest that is the "All You Can Eat, Write Your Own Menu" disaster. I hadn't had a chance to wait on them yet, but I'd seen them tearing through dozens of breadsticks in other sections. Five large and very hungry slices of middle America, all jammed into a booth. With a stifled sigh, I walk over to grab their drink order. Not a menu is open, and all five of them are looking a little panicky. "Good evening, my name is Karen, and I'll be your server..." ...