Short: O Charlie, First Friday
Bishop’s first week at Charlie’s was a training week conducted by a slender busybody named Derek and a squat gossip who everybody called Ray Ray. Each afternoon, Bishop changed into his new white oxford and dark blue Levis and then walked the quarter mile to the restaurant. Derek and Ray Ray alternated training sessions each day beginning with company policies on Monday, steps of service on Tuesday, menu review Wednesday, and side work and clean up on Thursday. After each training session, Bishop shadowed a competent server for a more practical education. Friday was reserved for running food as a means of learning where each table was in the restaurant.
That first Monday, he followed Jerry, a stocky clean-shaven man with a loud voice and sarcastic wit. Whether customer or coworker, he had a joke at the reqdy, which set everyone in his path at ease, so much so Bishop hardly payed attention to the little aspects of job that would cause him problems the following week. Jerry made every part of serving look effortless from greeting a new table, to refilling drinks and running food, and all with a smile plastered to his face.
Tuesday and Wednesday, Bishop shadowed his trainer Derek, who also made the job look effortless. Fortunately for Bishop, Derek took time to explain what he was doing and why he did it. Between table visits, Derek stopped to review aspects of serving, like timing- when to fire an order to the kitchen and when to hold it- how to avoid the line for yeast rolls, and the best way to upsell a guest from a cheap sirloin into a pricey ribeye. And when he wasn’t talking to customers or talking shop, Derek dropped barbs about his coworkers. Don’t talk back to Rob, he’s a dick. Bree hates me because she wants my section. Have you seen Marissa’s teeth…you know why they’re dark like that, right? Of course, Bishop did not know why, but nodded along as if he did.
Thursday was perhaps the worst day for Bishop because he shadowed Ryan, a tongue-pierced prick of a man, with spiked hair and a goatee. Ryan questioned Bishop at length about his life and then pestered him with questions related to the menu and steps of service. And he began nearly every sentence with You know why or You know you should in tone so condescending, Bishop wanted to smack him in the nads. Worst of all, Ryan advised Bishop to carry fifty dollars in loose change- quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies- at all times during his shift, which Bishop did until he realized how stupid it was. No server needs fifty dollar in coins tucked in their apron unless they want to sound like they’re part of a chain gang or look like they have chunk balls.
On that Friday, Bishop sensed a shift in the atmosphere as he stepped through the door. Though still early, only 4 PM, the mood was serious. The leisurely pace and smiles of the previous days were gone, replaced by rushed exchanges and furrowed faces. The restaurant had few tables of old people out to beat the rush and drinkers who began the weekend early. Slightly more than normal, but not busy. Courtney, petite assistant manager with a Kentucky draw, greeted Bishop as we walked into the kitchen. “You ready for tonight?” she asked with half smile. “I think so. What do I need to do?” he responded. Courtney’s face brightened at the question before she rattled off his duties for the evening, then she introduced him to the cooks on the line. There was Lamar the fry cook, Chris on the grill, Marcus for sauté and salads, and Woody was the kitchen manager. In the back of the restaurant, Jose- a former bank manager from Peru- washed dishes, and when needed, made salads.
Over the next hour, more servers appeared until all twelve were clocked-in and ready, anxiously checking their tables and restocking supplies. Bishop reviewed the tables and sections. Servers are given sections containing a number of tables. And some sections are better than others. The bar area is full of drinkers who tipped better than most. While sections closers to the kitchen reduced distance and time needed to complete tasks. Derek and Ray Ray’s sections were in the bar area, while Ryan and Jerry held larger sections closer to the kitchen.
As Bishop studied the floor map, Jerry took a moment to check in on the new guy. “How ya’ doing? Need anything?”
“No. I’m ready.”
“Great,” Jerry said with a smile. “We’re gonna have fun tonight. Fridays are busy and that’s good. That’s when I make my money. So, don’t mess up.”
The last bit, a typical Jerry joke, caught Bishop off guard and both men laughed away the nerves. And as if on cue, Jerry walked out of the kitchen without a word. And then there was a brief moment of quiet in kitchen. All the servers were out at their tables, greeting hungry faces and taking orders. Bishop stood on his side of line and sipped his cola, watching the swell.
“It’s the calm before the storm,” quipped a deep voice from behind the line. Bishop turned to see the kitchen manager Woody, a tall, dark skinned man with a wide face, perfectly round afro, and a gleaming white smile. He too seemed at ease with rush to come as he leaned on the counter between them. And then he stood straight up and turned to his crew. “It’s all gonna come at once. Go get your drinks now. Hurry. And take a leak if you need to too. We won’t have a break for a while,” he barked, scattering his cooks like ducks off a pond, in every direction all at once, then returning as quick as they’d left.
Finally, the calm broke by the screech of the printer. The first tickets began to roll in, and Bishop’s first Friday night was underway.
