Carrying the Platter

Tommy Boy's Troubling Service

Tuesday 10:30 AM

Mr. Joseph Pulitzer. Chief reviewer of the food newspaper The Gourmet World. Not only was it the most popular food newspaper, but it was also the most feared. Mr. Pulitzer had even put a small restaurant in Queens out of business the previous year. Needless to say, having the connosieur at your restaurant was a big deal.

"You're kiddin'." Smalls said to Tommy Boy, more so telling him than asking him.

"No." Tommy Boy shook his head.

"It's true," Davey said. "I just checked. He's right out there."

"Oh my god," Smalls mumbled to herself. As Sniper ran off to tell the waiter group, she turned to JoJo and Albert. "Pulitzer's here."

Their reactions weren't much different than Smalls', and quickly they had moved to tell Race's group in window two. The news spread like wildfire through the kitchen and waiter groups. Soon everyone knew that the city's most notorious food critic was in the dining room only meters away from them. Reality eventually caught up with them, making the remember that they were an actual business. Davey hurried out with the main courses to his table, the chefs continued prepping their plates, and Finch and Sniper gave Tommy Boy a quick pep-talked before he went out to take Pulitzer's order.

Jack, as the head waiter, had started Pulitzer's visit by leading him to his table. Now it was Tommy Boy's turn. As the waiter for the non-reserved guests table, it was his job to take Pulitzer's order, and also deliver all the food. Everything had to go flawlessly. If Tommy Boy had gotten to do what he needed, he'd have waited to collect himself and get ready. If he had waited until he was ready, he'd be waiting for the rest of his life, though, and Pulitzer had already been waiting for a whole couple of minutes. Waiting too long would worsen his experience. It was time.

Tommy Boy opened the door and immediately spotted Pulitzer's back at the small table by the big window.

Give him the waiting optimal waiting experience. Be professional. Treat him very specially, but not different from the other guests; that would be unproffesional. Treat him just like the other guests, but with modified treatment to fit him personally.

Several deep breaths were taken as he slowly walked through the dining room. He walked around a table close to the small one, to make sure Pulitzer saw him coming, avoiding jump scares.

"Hello-" Tommy Boy coughed away the voice crack. "Hello sir, an' welcome ta Dinner Is a Doozy."

"Took you long enough to get here," Pulitzer grumbled.

"I'm very sorry 'bout that..." Tommy Boy quickly brushed over it. "Are ya ready ta take your order- place your order?" Damn.

"Yes." Pulitzer answered shortly.

Tommy Boy perched up his notebook.

"I'll have the seafood soup start, chicken main course, and crème brûlée as dessert."

Tommy Boy scribbled down his notes as quickly as he could. "Anythin' ta drink?"

"Yes, I'll have a glass of Pinot Noir."

"Absolutely sir. Your food will be out shortly."

Tommy Boy almost hurried away to the cash register to enter what Pulitzer had ordered. He must have double checked each item on his notes list ten times to make sure it was correct, and even with that, thoughts like "What if he ordered the salmon but I wrote chicken?" rushed through his head. The receipts came out, he grabbed them and quickly entered the waiter's passage. He found almost every eye in the passage and window one to be on him. Finch's hand also patted his shoulder quickly before he started walking. He was like a bride walking down the aisle to marry someone no one wanted him to marry. It was completely silent as he walked down towards the window, with everyone looking at the unlucky bride.

"One seafood soup, out." He handed in the first receipt to Smalls. "And one chicken, wait." He handed in the second.

Smalls, JoJo and Albert immediately began rushing around as Tommy Boy moved on. He walked past window two, where Race, Buttons, Blink and Mush seemed to have forgotten that they had two orders waiting to be made and plated. Finally, Romeo, Specs and Ike were anxiously waiting in the dessert window.

"One crème brûlée, wait."

The atmosphere in the kitchen had quickly changed. It was as if someone had just died in there. Things had gone from a stressful kitchen to a scarily quiet meeting where no one dared to talk. What if this was just how Pulitzer's family lived, and now his so called energy had infected everyone around him. Tommy Boy didn't know if Mr. Pulitzer had children. If he did, Tom felt sorry for them.

Trying to hide how tense he was while pouring water and deliering bread to Pulitzer was becoming increasingly challenging as all the anxious thoughts and pressure got to Tommy Boy. Half of the responsibility to make this restaurant visit great for Pulitzer was on him. He cursed himself for having volunteered to take the non-reservation table this night. Only uncritical young couples usually spontaneously came in to sit at that table! Not city-renowned food critics who left harsh reviews and put restaurants out of business! Tommy Boy was not cut out for this.

He'd dreaded the time when the starter was finished, so when the bell rang and Smalls shouted for him, his body locked itself int he uncomfortable approach again. He hated every piece of this.

Smalls was cleaning some spilled grease from the cress off the plate when Tommy Boy arrived. Beside it stood the soup kettle. Tom had hated that thing, since he spilled it everywhere during his first waiter night. That could not happen tonight.

"There," Smalls said quickly. She plucked around some of the cress and chips in the soup, fixing it to perfection. She smirked at it as she said, "Watch the old snake complain about this."

Tommy Boy nodded stiffly and grabbed the plate and kettle. He carefully walked through the passage and into the dining room, not wanting to wreck anything in Smalls and JoJo's perfect plating.

"Here is your starter; a seafood soup, sir," he said, forcing a service smile while placing the plate with mussels, cream and chips in front of Pulitzer. He hated switching the kettle from his left to his right hand just as much as he had expected, but at least he didn't drop and spill it. Pouring the actual soup in was always awkward. Painfully so even. But this time it went slower than it ever had. The kettle couldn't pour any more leisurely, all while Pulitzer sat there with a face like someone had just shoved their sweaty armpit in his nose. That thought made Tommy Boy pull his shoulder and chest back. Maybe that was exactly what had happened. He'd have to check later.

"There you go, sir. Hope it tastes well."

"I do too," Pulitzer said, and it was definitely not a good luck wish. He might as well just have threatened to harm Tom's dog.

And it did not get any better. If anything, he got worse throughout the night. When Tommy Boy delivered these news to his friends, the worry only spread. Then Pulitzer barely touched his chicken, which only got everyone's minds trailing off to awful conclusions.

A service night had never been alike this one.