Walk in the Woods
Short: O Charlie, First Friday
A new short story: O Charlie, Part 2: First Friday. This is the story of Bishop Perry and his journey into the bowels of the restaurant world. We begin where Bishop began, at Charlie’s, at regional steakhouse.
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.
Short: O Charlie, Part1: The Store
A new short story: O Charlie, The Store, Part 1. This is an introduction to Bishop Perry and his journey into the bowels of the restaurant world. We begin where Bishop began, at Charlie’s, at regional steakhouse.
Bishop’s first restaurant job was for a soulless regional chain, a steakhouse designed with Walmart-loving America in mind. You know the type. Constructed of brick and tile, and decorated with cheap nostalgia. These restaurants are passionless formulas, tried and true, right down to the drink specials and open floor plan. They have catchy slogans involving fun and hoopla and a basic menu of grilled meats and burgers. Mention it’s your birthday and they’ll give you a slice of caramel pie while singing Happy Birthday. And of course, they offered yeast rolls. Free, ass-fattening, light and pillowy, slathered in butter yeast rolls, the delight of adults and children alike. Bishop quickly learned most customers overlooked unfilled drinks and dirty plates, but hell hath no fury like an angry redneck demanding more free bread. And all of it- the intersection of food, service, and power dynamics of a restaurant such as Charlie’s- fascinated him.
The first wonder, according to Bishop, was the ruthless efficiency of the restaurant. Enough to make the most ardent capitalist happy, dishes were formed from a handful of common ingredients, with most plates containing some bland variation of beef, chicken, or salmon. And every item on the menu was designed to be prepared and on the customer’s table in under eight minutes. And management leveraged favorable labor laws to keep the place clean and stocked. Of course, the corporate office utilized their massive buying power to lower fixed costs. Something a mom and pop could never do.
Some days, Bishop felt this machine pushing on his soul. The smell of industrial sanitizer and fry oil drove permeated his uniform- a white oxford dress shirt and blue jeans. And he hated coupon cutters, the Sunday brunch crowd, and cringed at the way management bent over for any customer with a complaint regardless of validity. Better to keep the customer happy than have them call the home office, he was told. All this is normal enough, but what really got under his skin was the never-ending “Kids eat free” promotion.
You may let your mind run wild as you picture the type of person willing to abuse such an offer. Single parents would claim a fifteen year-old was twelve, the maximum age as defined by the fine print. They’d order a bowl of soup instead of an entree as required. Or worse, a cheap schmuck might order ten chicken wings on .25 cent wing night and get the kids meals for free too. (And why, might you ask, were people allowed to abuse the promo? Recall what you read above, management didn’t want anyone raising a fuss.)
Bishop once served a family of four whose entire bill including meals, enough lemon wedges to make lemonade, and free bread was a mere $8. After an hour of running him ragged for every free item in the store, they left him a single crumpled up dollar bill as a tip. Rats don’t work this hard, he thought.
Still, the restaurant held his attention, even on the worst days. Shifts were short and he was usually able to score free food by doing extra side work. And management liked him. They like him because he worked hard and was honest, two uncommon traits in the food service world. But more than that, we was willing to pick up extra shifts. Naturally, he rose quickly through the ranks, from lowly server to trainer and bartender. And when trouble did come calling for Bishop, management covered for him…