More Verbal Violence

(There's never a dull moment.)

Last night, I worked with Jamaal. He’s a lazy son of a bitch, but I like the kid, nevertheless. So I greeted him warmly as he walked through the door, but all I got in return was a disgruntled grunt.

I said, “What’s the matter?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t want to be here.”

I smiled at him. “Listen, my friend. Nobody wants to be here. It’s called working for a living.” Then I gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Cheer up, for Christ’s sake. This is overnights at the Waffle House, the land of drunken happiness.”

“I’m thinking of moving to the Dairy Queen.”

“The Dairy Queen? Are you nuts? They don’t even tip over there.”

The news shocked me. Even though Jamaal’s a filthy pothead, I really enjoy working with him. And I’m not sure who the boss will get to replace the kid. Lots of waffle boys and girls are downright fucking crazy. The restaurant can often have a cult-like atmosphere when it comes to serious people. As I said before, some of these crazy motherfuckers even tattoo themselves with waffle slogans. I shit you not.

A Mexican man and his son sat in my buddy’s section. I could tell they were good tippers because I’m developing a real sixth sense when it comes to generous people. I figured that getting ten or twenty bucks in his pocket for minimal work would snap him out of his funk. But I was wrong.

He said, “I’m going home?”

I said, “Going home already? You’re scheduled to work until 7 a.m.”

“I don’t care. I’m just not feeling it.”

“Why don’t you sit down and think for ten minutes. You know, get your head on straight. Because if you walk out of here, they’re probably going to fire you.”

Dwayne the Dwarf decided to add his opinion on the matter. “Jack’s right, Jamaal. Sit and think hard. It’s kinda of stupid to quit a job unless you have another one lined up.”

Jamaal said, “I don’t need cash these days since I’m living with my dad. He says that he’s willing to support me for the time being.”

Then he walked to the back of the store and punched out. The exact time was 10:30 p.m.

I knew that I’d benefit financially because I could now scarf up all the tips. Yet it really put me in a bind. I would have to cover all the side work for the entire restaurant. Clean the bathrooms. Sweep and mop the floor. Drop the sink. Prepare the iced tea. Fill all the sugar, salt, and pepper containers. Trust me. The list goes on and on.

But what’s a boy to do? I just had to keep on keeping on.

At 3 a.m., we had a to-go order come in over the internet. Dwayne the Dwarf was cleaning various pots and pans over the deep sink in the back of the restaurant.

I warned him several times. “We have a to-go order. All the other shit might have to wait.”

“I don’t have to wait. The motherfucker that ordered the food will have to wait. He doesn’t make the goddamn rules.”

And wouldn’t you know it. The guy showed up five minutes later, and I had nothing to give him. Needless to say, he was pissed off.

He pointed at Dwayne with his index finger. “You know, this happens all the motherfucking time because of that crackhead. Just cancel the fucking order. I got to get to work.”

Dwayne looked at him. “No fucking problem. I’ll cancel your order. But don’t come back here again.”

The Dwarf walked to the register but couldn’t figure how to operate the void function. I sensed the potential for violence lingering in the air, so I decided to take action.

I reached into my apron and took out seventeen dollars. “Sir, I’m paying for your food.”

“No, you ain’t. This has nothing to do with you, Jack. It’s all about Dwayne. Every time I’m here, he’s high out of his mind.”

My grill operator exploded. “Get the fuck out of my store! I’ll never cook for you again!”

“Fuck you, you fucking junkie.”

“I’m gonna call the cops if you don’t leave.”

“Call the fucking police. I don’t give a fuck.”

“Asshole.”

“Fuck you, you fucking faggot. And if you keep running that mouth, I’ll break your fucking head open.”

I gently grabbed the man’s wrist and forced my money into his hand. “Just take it and go. The last thing we need is the law descending on the restaurant. Nothing good will come of it.”

“But that’s your money.”

“It’s only seventeen dollars, and I’ve done well tonight in tips. Take it. It’s my pleasure.”

And that’s what he did. He put the cash in his pocket and walked out the door. It was the best money I ever spent.

I ended up making $250 for my ten-hour shift. That comes to twenty-five bucks an hour. Things could’ve been much worse.

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