How humor and improvisation can save almost any situation
In my junior year of college, I took a night job as a waiter in a four-star restaurant. The tips were phenomenal, and the experience was packed with lessons and growth opportunities. Anyone who worked a restaurant job in their youth can fondly recall their first exposure to the “restaurant staff” subculture. In this group, you typically find career servers who are very professional; however, there are others whose professional dreams have been sidelined, leading them back to waiting tables, washing dishes, short-order cooking, and related food-service jobs. As the bartender laments in Billy Joel’s “Piano Man,” “Bill, I’m sure that I could be a movie star/If I could just get out of this place.” That’s how many restaurant people talk. Missed opportunities, unfaithful spouses, a parent who needed care just as the waiter or waitress was about to seize the chance of a lifetime, and so on.
But since these people show resilience and toughness, they exhibit a sort of “Teflon” swagger. They don’t stay down long. They are survivors who are used to taking a hit and getting back up for the next punch. There are no wasted tears. Should you divulge something to them about what’s dragging you down, they will listen to your story and then shrug, smile, and say, “Well, I guess you better get on with it, kid.”
A Historic Night
One example from my restaurant days made a lasting impression on me. The crew and I worked a typical Saturday-night crowd. Diners stood 10 deep in the foyer waiting for a table, and every person on staff juggled duties, cleared tables, set tables, ran drinks, took orders, and poured water for other tables if a waiter was double-seated. In the biz, they call it “being in the weeds.” But waiters and waitresses thrive on this type of hit. The money pours in, the evening flies by, and the excitement is addictive. Even the customers become caught up in the frenzy. They join in the fun and start teasing the waiter about how busy he or she is.
Unfortunately, at the very peak of the night, the chef accidentally spilled hot oil on his arm and was badly scalded—enough that he required hospital attention. The dishwasher abandoned his station and volunteered to drive him to the emergency room. As the door slammed behind them, we all stood in the kitchen looking at one another. There were probably 20 tickets hanging above the stove, ready to be filled, and more were coming in. The manager burst through the door and sensed the moment.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
I told him about the cards we’d just been dealt. He closed his eyes for a moment and then very calmly turned down the sound system that blasted spirited music throughout the restaurant. He walked into the dining room and climbed onto the bar, which sat in the center of the room. “May I have everyone’s attention, please?” he shouted. The room went silent, and all the patrons turned to see this maniac yelling from above.
“I’ve just been told,” he continued, “that our chef, in his haste to serve you amazing dishes, has been rushed to the hospital to treat a hot oil burn.” And then I saw a smile creep onto his face. “But, uh, listen up. I got a cooler full of steaks, and a kid over here who is a potato-frying wizard. Ronnie, come up here.” I realized he was talking about me, so I jumped onto the bar next to him with two glasses of draft beer in my hands. I waved to the crowd and handed him a brewski. He continued, “If you want to leave, you are welcome to do so without any charge, but if you’d like a great steak and fries for $18.50, I’ll throw in your first beer for free, and dancing in the aisle is welcome! Your waiter is waiting to hear from you!” We clinked glasses and hopped down as a roar of laughter filled the room.
Not one table emptied, and not a single person left. We cranked up the music, playing energetic salsa tunes, and ran to the kitchen, where my wild-eyed manager threw 10 steaks on the grill, and I plunged three baskets of fries into bubbling oil. As we cranked out the food and one of the waitresses stepped in to garnish and fix each plate before it went out the door, spirits were high. Waiters ran loads of dishes to fill in for the departed dishwasher, and we filled plates as soon as they came from the dishwashing steamer. It was absolutely crazy, yet everyone smiled.
Out in the dining room, the bartender cranked out orders like a spastic octopus, and the energy caught fire. Diners drank like they were at a party instead of dinner. The contagious camaraderie sold the steaks faster than we could make them. We were clearly on the way to the restaurant’s biggest sales night ever. After a few hours, we called one of our local competitors and bought its entire steak inventory. When those boxes were empty, we jumped on the bar and told the crowd we didn’t have a crumb left in the kitchen. No one left. The bar kept selling until we closed at 2:30 a.m.
Many of us stayed on the clock to help the manager clean the kitchen and run the many loads of dishes that had backed up. We went back to the dining room just before dawn, and a few of us stretched out in the booth seats, falling asleep immediately. I awoke to a thumping at the front door. The five of us who had dozed off ran to see who it was. We opened it to find the local police standing there.
“We, uh, noticed all the lights on and wanted to check things out.”
I realized we looked messy—hair standing up, grease-covered clothing, a few workers with only one shoe on.
“Who are you people?” one officer asked.
Our stalwart manager, barefoot and with his hair standing straight up, said, “Excuse me, officer, I'm in charge here.”
The three policemen began to chuckle. “And who the heck are you?”
The boss licked his hand and ran it through his hair, trying to look a little better. “I’m the manager,” he said.
Everyone erupted in laughter. What a night it had been. Quite a story had been etched in the history of that restaurant.
But most of all, what a testament to a “never-say-die” attitude. The team was on the verge of losing a ton of business, but thanks to some quick thinking, a willingness to share the manager’s determined energy, and the resolve to go forward despite the odds, the evening took a 180-degree turn—and became more successful than any night on record.
I learned a lot that night and have called upon that memory to persevere in situations where I’m almost out of hope. I’ve used it in both small and large applications and found it to be a reliable tool. One of the key realizations about “rolling with” the circumstances is that nothing should be taken too seriously. Certainly, in situations of life and death or harm to someone, there’s an exception. But if what’s at risk is losing money or something non-consequential? Why not dig deep, get creative, and take a chance? What do you have to lose?
