Working at X in Boston was chaotic in many ways, as charming as the establishment was. A lack of consistent workers led to me performing some jobs I wasn’t trained for, or necessarily allowed to do. On a particularly hot and busy Thursday night when I was 17, I was working as the only waitress and acting as hostess, busser and runner while my manager stepped in as sous chef, occasionally popping out of the kitchen to yell something to me from across the restaurant. As I approached a table that was glaring at me for the time they had spent waiting, I put on my best customer service smile and apologized profusely for the wait. After ordering food, one of them asked for the dreaded item that was rarely ordered: a mixed drink.
We didn’t serve much alcohol and didn’t even put out the drink menu when it was super busy since the alcoholic drinks were complicated to make and generally had to be done by the manager, who was always busy. But this customer had been here before and insisted on a simple rum and coke. Wanting to appease his annoyance, I agreed without thinking and ran to the kitchen to admit my choice to my manager. She cursed under her breath when I told her and told me she had to be in the kitchen and didn’t have time to make a drink right now, but that a rum and coke was easy to make and I should just make it myself. I figured she was right. It’s only 2 ingredients!
I hastily poured lukewarm coke into a glass and avoided the gaze of those around me, feeling like they knew I was out of my depth. It was at this moment that I realized there was no rum. My eyes panned across the labels again and again, convinced I had just passed over the bottle. I sighed and ran back to the kitchen, telling my manager the news and begging for an answer of what to do. She thought for a moment and said, “Add gin”. I protested, arguing that there was no way he wouldn’t notice the switch. She hushed me in a moment of extreme fatigue and told me to just do it, and she would talk to him if there was a problem.
A minute later I walked to his table, a nervous smile plastered on my face, and a ‘rum and coke’ clamped tightly in my hand. I placed it in front of him and dashed away as quickly as I could before he could say something. I went on with my shift and waited in agony for him to disapprovingly beckon me over, but he never did. A while later he left with those he came with and waved goodbye, no complaint ever given. I was filled with relief, and confusion.
About the author:
Linnea Colton is an Oberlin College student graduating this spring with a psychology degree, and with an interest in environmental systems. Her favorite format of pasta is linguini, homemade by her mother.
