Want a slice?
After getting back late, I ran out of time to cook for my hungry monsters and went for takeout at one of the only local restaurants still open this holiday.
Annoyed people five layers deep stood glaring at a young woman behind the counter fielding calls and juggling other irate, hungover customers. The restaurant was obviously behind- several in their kitchen had called in with the Irish Flu, their ovens were overburdened, and they just couldn’t get the pizzasout fast enough.
What struck me was how most of the mob was reacting with such harshness and anger toward the young waitress who looked like she was biting her lip trying not to cry. She was doing her best with the compromised resources available.
So instead of joining the growing knot of impatient Lamorindans with their pitchforks and torches, I sat down at the end of the bar and chatted with a few locals and one browbeaten bartender.
I had such a great time listening and laughing and sharing stories with other patrons that an hour seemed like 5 minutes. We could not figure out why people just stood there for an hour blocking the door instead of waiting at the bar to watch the game with a beer or soda.
I couldn’t help it. While waiting over an hour and witnessing a spoiled crowd of complainers, I couldn’t bite my tongue. They had a right to do so, of course, but it was too much. I have worked in service enough to know a gen pop without restaurant experience can be brutal.
As I left a tip I forced my way through and said, “You’re doing a great job!” to each staff member, totally interrupting the people bitching. I realize this was a tad obnoxious, but felt ashamed at how these young folks left to deal with New Years mayhem were being treated and just wanted to offer one note of support.
In a community that does work hard to afford such outrageous rents and mortgages, waiting an hour for pizza can be cause for a riot. Expectations run too high and privilege can be blind.
May we all know how to put ourselves in the place of whoever we are blaming for our unhappiness in every moment. If you cannot be civil or chill, at least tip those who serve your meal! Cheap AND rude are a bad combo no matter how important or rushed you may be. You live in a million dollar home and rolled up in a BMW with “Yogini” bumper sticker next to your “Bikram is for lovers” window decal on a holiday evening demanding to get served immediately.
Honey, I remember when yoga was called Twister. Besides, it’s just pizza, and not brain surgery...yet. Namaste.