Splenda

Splenda.

Even though working in the food and beverage (industry), a churched up way of saying "I wait tables" requires no formal education, it probably has the highest percentage of formally educated people. And even though a majority of the people who wait tables are formally educated, it doesn't always mean they are cut out for the type of work. Customer service requires a smooth tongue and a level of tact that can only be learned from multiple trials by fire. Trials by fire like the Winston Salem witch trials by fire.  Not everyone can handle multiple tables of hungry, cranky, demanding people who demand a million different things and need you to run in a million different directions all while you stay cool, calm and collected and smiling like bringing them more Splenda for their unsweet tea that has 3 lemon wedges, not two, is the ONLY thing you would rather be doing.

Billy went to Clemson. He was a biological science major and wanted to work with the South Carolina Aquarium. He landed an internship there, which is what brought him to Charleston. He's as sharp as a tac and one of the nicest guys I know, one of those genuinely nice guys that when they ask how you're doing, they actually want to hear about it. He always has a word of encouragement and a helping hand to offer. He started at our pseudo-posh restaurant as a bac-wait, which is a glorified bus boy, and quickly made it to the big show of splitting checks in Aloha and hunting down those damn yellow packets of Splenda. The thing is, when dealing with "people" you have to have pretty tough skin. In reality, there are some people who just refuse to be happy. They are miserable and in turn, make everyone around them miserable. You have to know how to wrangle these people like the late Steve Irwin used to handle a cobra, because, if you aren't careful, a 4-top can go from bad to the 7th realm of Dante's Inferno, fast.

Billy was in a great mood at the beginning of the shift. He tossed me a Red Bull as he walked in and showed me a picture of his big date he had later that week that he had met on the Clemson Alumni booze cruise in the harbor. He asked where he should take her, and was wondering about Cyprus.

Billy: "Have you ever been there? I hear it's really good."
Me: "Take her to The Belle."
Billy: "What's that?"
Me: "Never mind. Get some Splenda when you come back upstairs."

Obviously my suggestion was in jest, however it paints a picture of Billy's baby bunny like naivety. He came back with some Splenda and at the gun, we were off. Our hosts, all young beautiful college girls, have the job of escorting each guest to their table, handing them menus and hopefully, spreading the arrivals throughout the sections to give us, the pit crew, time to respond accordingly. However, if you could somehow militarize the collective intellect of our hostesses, all enemies of the State would...probably.....do whatever they wanted.

Poor Billy got quadruple sat, a deuce, two 4-tops and a 5-top. He wasn't just in the weeds, he was in Vietnam 1969 surrounded by Charlie weeds. I wasn't aware of the disaster unfolding with his tables, as we were short a bartender and I was busy with my tables and working on the long list of top shelf mixed drinks, and martinis with "just a touch of vermouth, not too much, but not too dry either, do you understand?"

"Absolutely I understand, you're going to get a cup full of vodka because thats pretty much what a martini is and the addition of vermouth is just to make it look more pretentious, you can't taste it, it's just for show, that'll be $17.00."

I was behind the bar when the wheels came off. Billy was stumbling through all of the modifications on his orders when a walking, chrome domed version of Dr. Xavier stormed up to the computer. (Get it? Because Dr. Xavier, from X-Men, is in a wheelchair. I'm not gonna spoon feed ya here.) He didn't hold back.

"BILLY!"

Picture the dead, awkward silence of the Cantina right after Obi Wan cuts that thug's arm off to rescue Luke in A New Hope. Every employee stopped and looked up. Billy looked like he had shrunk about 3 inches, his eyes were the size of dinner plates.

"It's been 15 minutes and you haven't even gotten our drink order. We've been here many times and this is BY FAR the worst service I have EVER had. You need to get over here and get our order. If you want any semblance of a tip you're going to need to step it up. Now get over here and get our order!"

I was in mid stride to intervene when Xavier turned on his heel and sauntered back to his table. Had I had a light saber, I probably would have carved him up. Billy was shellshocked. The wheels had stopped turning. He was done. I asked him if he was ok and momentarily he regained his composure. I tried to take some of the heat from his other tables for him, to give him a fighting chance of escaping the night with at least part of his soul.

"I've got table 28 and 32, what do you need for Stalin over there? A pistol?"
Billy: "He wants some Splenda for his tea and a Goose martini up, olives, no, a twist, shi@ I don't remember!"
Me: "Deep breaths bud, I've got you. He's getting olives. Get your orders in and we'll go from there."

You could sense evil around the table when you walked by, like the stench from a bog or the cold chill from a haunted house and Billy had that "Please don't make me go over there" look of terror in his eyes every time they needed something.

"Can you run their food to them?"
"Should I drop the check off now or wait?"
"Damn, I didn't ask if they wanted coffee or desserts!"

His confidence was shattered and he was second guessing himself at every turn. At this point we were simply attempting damage control and trying to get the hexed table out of our lives as quickly as possible. We comped a round of drinks for their troubles and I really wanted to play mind games with the them. I wanted to tell Billy to go hide and with presenting the check I would simply explain to them that Billy was in his first week of serving here and "I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience but he just found out his entire family died in a house fire, his dog ran away and oh yeah, just yesterday he was just diagnosed with every type of cancer there is, ever, but we took care of your stupid martini because we are SO sorry you had to wait 15 minutes for it," but I didn't do that, because that's not very nice.

The night went on pretty much without incident, but poor Billy was KIA. I could see how upset that guy had made him, and it really got to me. I would like to say that we got our revenge on Dr. Xavier with some devious plan like that scene(watch this video!) from Waiting by destroying his food or putting Visine in his stupid martini, but we didn't, because that's not very nice. We went out to our favorite watering hole after work and I bought him a few cold ones to take the edge off. I went through some of my worst stories of dealing with people like Dr. Xavier and told him thats the name of the game. You win some and you lose some and that night, Scotty chalked one up under a loss but that doesn't mean for the requirements, it can't be a great, lucrative, in between job where you can meet a lot of great people.

As for Dr. Xavier, I hope he doesn't try to pull a stunt like that somewhere that where some maverick server WILL go rogue and violate a dozen health codes on his mashed potatoes. Billy? I'm not worried about Billy. He's already had a few interviews with different aquatic affiliated organizations, and is building up volunteer and intern hours for his resume. He's going to be ok. He's graduated from a bunny to, I don't know, at least a house cat. If nothing else, this in-between job that so many college-plus grads endure to fund their journey to the next step, and hopefully a career will make them capable and confident in dealing with every type of person. I know it will.

Splenda.