Don't Cry Over Spilled Restaurant Food

          source: http://www.artizhay.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/food-on-floor.jpg

Ya know how when you’re sitting in a restaurant, you casually watch servers fly by with those heavy trays loaded to the brim with meals and drinks and condiments?  You probably sit there, resting your chin on your fist as you murmur to your dining companion, “it would suck to drop one of those.” 

Well, take it from me; it really, really sucks to drop one of those. 

In my defense, I had been ordered by a particularly large server (imagine a bro with biceps so big they could crack nuts) to carry a tray he loaded to an upstairs party room.  Seeing the tray in question, I told him with certainty that I should not carry it.

“Nope,” I shook my head. “There is no way I will make it up the stairs with that thing.”  I held up my puny arm as evidence that I was not strong enough to lug the tray anywhere.  But to no avail, this guy barked out a laugh and slapped me on the back as he ushered the tray onto my shoulder.  All I could do was moan as I shuffled out of the pantry. 

In total, there were four dinner plates (with food, obviously), twelve individual side dishes, three steak knives, and two bottles of ketchup precariously being held up by my arm.  If I were to guess, I would say that it weighed thirty pounds. 

As I made my way through several dining rooms and up three different sets of stairs, I could see my final destination.  A tray-jack awaiting my arrival was in sight.  I sighed a breath of relief that my arms hadn’t given out as I traversed the last step up.

But.  I shouldn’t have praised myself so early.  I should have known that the one moment I thought I had played it off cool would be the time that I ruined my carefully strategized reputation. 

That was the moment that I failed to lift my foot quite high enough and I tipped forward, forcing the food off of the tray and on to the floor (and my white button-up shirt, for that matter).  Plates shattered, pasta scattered, and one filet mignon encircled with bacon rolled toward the foot of a customer. 

All I could do was shovel the now useless food onto my tray while trying to maintain composure.  Did I mention that the entire dining room turning around to face me?  They did.  Some laughed while others grimaced; still others clapped.  

Lord, was it painful. 

Luckily for me, as I returned to the kitchen, the one cook who is nice enough to take pity on me already had begun to remake some of the lost meals.  He gave me one of those smiles that say “it-sucks-but-there-is-nothing-you-can-do-now.” 

Because I looked so miserable, he picked up a plate behind the cooking station, pointedly looked at me, and then dropped it.  When everyone booed and cursed and yelled at him, he just shrugged it off.  I hope he knows how much I appreciated that.

Lesson learned: don’t sweat the big stuff.  Also, refuse to carry trays that you know you can’t handle.