PaigeDot

The Story of Toast

At job #1, there's been a debate that goes back into the dark ages about whether or not sandwiches come automatically toasted. The day shift does everything completely different than the night shift. The day shift doesn't toast; the night shift does. Thus, war is waged.

Restaurant politics to the extreme. For real.


Last Sunday (Mother's Day), I was bartending and there was one server on the floor. (I'll just refer to him as Biter since my boss does) The Biter was absolutely slammed. He sent back an order for a club sandwich on white. He didn't press the 'toast' button, but hell, would you really want to eat a club on plain white bread? Ew, no.

When he went to get the sandwich, it wasn't toasted. He asked the cook to toast it. This is where hell breaks loose.

Just a quick backround on this cook--she's a sweet girl, foreign, but has one helluva attitude. If you piss her off, you're doomed for the day. Last year a server went nose to nose with her over the toast issue. I've fought with her because I didn't stack dirty dishes in the correct order in the sink. I mean, who really gives a flying monkey's ass?

Anyhow, the Biter asked her to toast it, and after a little griping, it got done. Ten minutes later, he ordered a BLT also on white, and didn't indicate toast, because there is not a button for toast. At this point, they started screaming at each other in the kitchen. Our sautee chef had to leave the kitchen because he was laughing so hard.

When I walked back, she shoved a menu in my face and asked where it said 'toasted.'
Me -- "It's how they do it at night, deal. It's how it should be done. If we don't want toast, we'll let you know."
Her -- "I work day. This is day. I no toast in day."

I just walked away; I had ten bajillion bloody marys to make and couldn't be concerned with a pissed-off foreigner.

The day after, the Biter, myself, and two other coworkers were sitting on a dock drinking. (If we aren't working, we're drinking. It's how we bond) While recanting the event to the coworkers, the Biter yells, "I hope she get's deported! I'm calling the damn INS."

I dared him to call her a Commi at work and see how long he could keep his job.

Tuesday night, the Biter and I were both serving. As a joke, he typed in "TOASTED BITCHES" on one of his sandwich orders. Everyone laughed, and we assumed the drama was over.

Until she found the slip the next day.

The Biter was called into the boss' office. The boss pulled out the slip with something written on the back. We've yet to figure out what was written, but it was surely unpleasant and angry.

The Biter doesn't generally work days, so the drama should end. In theory.

I guarantee it won't.

And if you think this story is stupid and useless, you've never worked in a restaurant.

posted by Paige @ 5:58 PM