He's Ablaze!

“86 the Chicken Fried Steak!” & “4 Top at table A-4.” –I love restaurant lingo!

 Working in a restaurant during college was one of the most entertaining jobs I’ve ever known.  If you have ever worked as a food server you know the rush that comes when your section is full, the bus person didn’t show up, one of your co-servers has come to work hung over and you are down to one coffee maker.  It is nothing short of a miracle what you can do when your resources are limited in a restaurant.  You suddenly emerge into a plate stacking/balancing wizard who whisks through the dining room with trays of food, empty glasses, towels, milkshakes, and side orders of fries, bacon and hash browns.  You pour coffee with such speed and skill that they named the dance move “The Waiter” after you.  Yes, a restaurant job can be fun.  That is, unless you work with a few unsafe clowns. 

Take into consideration the following scenario…

…I was in the break room sucking down a crispy Coca-Cola one evening while shooting the breeze with one of the chefs.  This was in the early 90’s when restaurants allowed people to smoke inside.  The chef was a smoker.  So, the break room was like a mysterious land with a haze of smoke billowing up and around those who were on break.  This particular chef was taking canned hair spray and spraying it into the open flame of his lighter.  Mmmm Hmmmm.. I worked with some very safe and intelligent people back then. Oddly enough this behavior was mild compared to other things I had witnesses.

I left the break room, walked down the hallway, around the corner through the server station and onto the dining room floor to an awaiting table of patrons.  It wasn’t long before one of the guests in the booth said, “You are on fire!”  Sure enough, I was ablaze.  The apron strings were on fire as they hung down past my rear end, which had caught the back side of my shirt on fire- creating gaping holes in my back.  Funny how I could have made it down the hall, through the server station and onto the dining room floor and not realized that I was ablaze, but I didn’t.  So, in a gesture that can only be seen as helpful as I reflect back, the guest in the booth threw his glass of water onto me to douse the flame.  There was much hubbub on the dining room floor that evening, people.  Patrons from other tables stomped over to see if the tower of inferno was now OK. I was.  The real miracle here, people, is how my head of hair didn’t become engulfed in flames.  It was the early 90’s. You may recall that people lubed up their hair with all kinds of hairspray, gels and other hair holders.  I was no different. 

Through careful research I learned that this cigarette smoking, hairspray/fire playing chef thought it might be a gas to spray the back of my uniform with hairspray and set a flame to it with his lighter.  – Not too terribly funny I thought as I stood there, uniform smoldering, but alas he gets an A for effort.  Back then I didn’t assert myself as much as I do now, which I know is going to be a huge shock to those of you who know me- the one who ALWAYS demands what I want nowadays.  Instead I was granted permission to leave work early.  After all, my uniform was newly redesigned and my backless shirt top didn’t seem to so appropriate in a family dining restaurant. 

It’s funny how you romanticize past jobs, past loves, your first apartment, etc. when you are feeling overwhelmed with your current job, love, house, or (insert whatever here).  After thinking this story through I am reminded that my job isn’t so bad after all.  In fifteen years of teaching I have yet to be set on fire...