and a spare goblet.
“ Thank you,” the mother scolds him.
“We’ll take care of this here,” he counters. “You can clean up in the restroom.” But first he needs to wipe off the uppers of her boots so she doesn’t track goop through the whole place. He kneels and wets a napkin in the ice water. Close up, the stuff smells like a mix of sour milk and fresh dog shit.
“Be careful,” the woman says. “Don’t soak them.”
Lady, he wants to say, they’re boots .
While he scrubs the stinking rug and fills a bus tub with nasty rags, Nicolette has to relocate the grandmothers to a booth as far away as possible, which is the equivalentof seating and serving them again. Jacquie takes a tray over. So does Kendra, as Roz shares an open-mouthed look of surprise with him. While he’s down there, he notices a couple spots of gum on the underside of the table, and before he can stop himself, he thinks he should find the putty knife later and take care of them.
He’s just breaking out the disinfectant spray when the mother stops him. The kid and the other mother are waiting by the live tank, the colored lights playing over their faces.
“I want to know who your supervisor is.”
“I don’t have a supervisor, I’m the manager.”
“Okay, let me make this easier for you.” She speaks precisely, enunciating each word as if he might have trouble understanding. “Who do I have to write to to complain about what happened here? Because I don’t think a child being sick is something to laugh at, and I saw at least one of your employees laughing at my son.”
“I’m sure that’s not the case.”
“I’m sure that is the case, and I am going to write a letter to someone about this.”
“I can give you another comment card.”
“I don’t want another comment card. I want the name and address of someone who’s actually going to do something.”
Manny’s tempted—as he’s never been before—to tell her her kid’s a brat and that she’s a terrible mother, and a terrible human being, but instead he gives her the contact info for the regional director and apologizes just to get her out the door. He smiles and eats a big shit sandwich in front of everyone, and if they don’t understand, Manny does: Like his face-off with Ty, it’s just the cost to be the boss.
The wetted carpet reeks like an overpowering cheese. He fogs the spot with disinfectant, then spends a couple minutes at the hygiene sink washing his hands. Once the mess dries he’ll vacuum, but not with guests present. The idea is to let things settle, let them all forget. Impossible in real life, and yet here it works perfectly. In fact, once the kid and his mom are gone, an infectious laughter circles the room as if they’ve all been holding it in, the grandmothers included, hooting and slapping the tabletop so hard their silverware rattles.
Manny needs to let it go too. The big party’s done, and Jacquie and Roz can use a hand settling their checks. He fingers the screen of the POS, swiping cards and printing slips. In another idiocy of corporate procurement, the system is brand-new. He likes the speed and the neatness of the transactions, and the feeling of completion, of closing the deal, money in the till, as if it somehow counts in his favor. At the Olive Garden, as assistant manager, his receipts will blend in, just one ingredient in a larger pot, and, aware of how selfish it sounds, since he’s always preaching teamwork, he thinks that’s a loss.
As the party filters out, Manny posts up by the host stand, following protocol, and thanks them as they pass, a kind of receiving line, Kendra behind him like a bride, reminding them to drive safely. The boss in the bow tie shakes his hand. “Thanks for getting us in on such short notice.”
“Not a problem. Thanks for thinking of Red Lobster.”
By now he says this as a reflex, but what does it mean? Who, besides the people who actually work here, thinks about Red Lobster? And even
“ Thank you,” the mother scolds him.
“We’ll take care of this here,” he counters. “You can clean up in the restroom.” But first he needs to wipe off the uppers of her boots so she doesn’t track goop through the whole place. He kneels and wets a napkin in the ice water. Close up, the stuff smells like a mix of sour milk and fresh dog shit.
“Be careful,” the woman says. “Don’t soak them.”
Lady, he wants to say, they’re boots .
While he scrubs the stinking rug and fills a bus tub with nasty rags, Nicolette has to relocate the grandmothers to a booth as far away as possible, which is the equivalentof seating and serving them again. Jacquie takes a tray over. So does Kendra, as Roz shares an open-mouthed look of surprise with him. While he’s down there, he notices a couple spots of gum on the underside of the table, and before he can stop himself, he thinks he should find the putty knife later and take care of them.
He’s just breaking out the disinfectant spray when the mother stops him. The kid and the other mother are waiting by the live tank, the colored lights playing over their faces.
“I want to know who your supervisor is.”
“I don’t have a supervisor, I’m the manager.”
“Okay, let me make this easier for you.” She speaks precisely, enunciating each word as if he might have trouble understanding. “Who do I have to write to to complain about what happened here? Because I don’t think a child being sick is something to laugh at, and I saw at least one of your employees laughing at my son.”
“I’m sure that’s not the case.”
“I’m sure that is the case, and I am going to write a letter to someone about this.”
“I can give you another comment card.”
“I don’t want another comment card. I want the name and address of someone who’s actually going to do something.”
Manny’s tempted—as he’s never been before—to tell her her kid’s a brat and that she’s a terrible mother, and a terrible human being, but instead he gives her the contact info for the regional director and apologizes just to get her out the door. He smiles and eats a big shit sandwich in front of everyone, and if they don’t understand, Manny does: Like his face-off with Ty, it’s just the cost to be the boss.
The wetted carpet reeks like an overpowering cheese. He fogs the spot with disinfectant, then spends a couple minutes at the hygiene sink washing his hands. Once the mess dries he’ll vacuum, but not with guests present. The idea is to let things settle, let them all forget. Impossible in real life, and yet here it works perfectly. In fact, once the kid and his mom are gone, an infectious laughter circles the room as if they’ve all been holding it in, the grandmothers included, hooting and slapping the tabletop so hard their silverware rattles.
Manny needs to let it go too. The big party’s done, and Jacquie and Roz can use a hand settling their checks. He fingers the screen of the POS, swiping cards and printing slips. In another idiocy of corporate procurement, the system is brand-new. He likes the speed and the neatness of the transactions, and the feeling of completion, of closing the deal, money in the till, as if it somehow counts in his favor. At the Olive Garden, as assistant manager, his receipts will blend in, just one ingredient in a larger pot, and, aware of how selfish it sounds, since he’s always preaching teamwork, he thinks that’s a loss.
As the party filters out, Manny posts up by the host stand, following protocol, and thanks them as they pass, a kind of receiving line, Kendra behind him like a bride, reminding them to drive safely. The boss in the bow tie shakes his hand. “Thanks for getting us in on such short notice.”
“Not a problem. Thanks for thinking of Red Lobster.”
By now he says this as a reflex, but what does it mean? Who, besides the people who actually work here, thinks about Red Lobster? And even
Similar Books
