Waiting Tables

I was waiting tables in an Italian restaurant that was originally opened by a man and his wife, but after their divorce, the restaurant was bought by their daughter. She was an ok boss; not fantastic, but not terrible. Her father, who had opened the restaurant, still worked as a cook and was a piece of shit. He called the waitresses cunts behind their backs and made a bunch of off-color comments while flirting with his favorite older ladies. He would scream at the younger women, and bully cooks on the line.

He didn’t give me a lot of shit because I was usually on my game; I had the times down for how long most of the food took, and adjusted for the load of the kitchen so I was always present in the window when it was ready to go out. I always heard his snide little comments, muttered some of my own at him a few times, but I always waited for the perfect time to get him, and get him good for being such an insufferable prick.

Finally, I got my chance. I had two plates up in the window when I walked into the kitchen. I was waiting on a third, and a side of meatballs. He accosts me as soon as I walk up there and says something along the lines of “Why don’t you get this fucking food out of my window?”

I calmly looked at him and replied, “The next time you say something like that to me, this food is not going out. This food is going on the fucking floor.”

This guy was easily six feet tall. I’m 5’1’’. He just kind of smirks and said,

“I’d like to see you try that.”

I picked up one plate, of spaghetti and meat sauce (probably takes less than a minute to plate, anyway) and just flipped it over in the window.

“And I need my order of lasagna and the side of meatballs, too.”

The expo guy had a look of admiration on his face and shock at what I had done. He didn’t even seem pissed at having to re-plate the meal. I’m not sure, though, I was blind with rage, and marched out of the kitchen and out onto the floor. We really weren’t that busy; I think they had a bus kid clean it up. I wasn’t spoken to about the incident except in passing, when the daughter admitted her dad could get a little intense, and her sister (who also worked there) explained that her sister often got into it with their father, and it wasn’t that big of a deal.

He was always polite to me after that, and never hassled me again. I nearly shit myself when I realized what I had done, though.