Every Wednesday was the same damn thing. Milkie hated working Wednesdays… and Thursdays too, come to think of it.
Once again he was left alone in the kitchen to handle orders rung in by hungry customers. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the summer season didn’t provide a spike in the restaurant’s work flow. Milkie had just put a basket of uncooked French fries into the deep fryer, prepared several plates with the proper dinner roll positioning and garnish dish setups, and had cut and placed chicken, both white meat and dark, onto their respective orders. It was a timely process for the mouse… so where were his co-workers?
Milkie didn’t have to look far. Shooting a glance over his shoulder, Milkie spotted one. The mouse’s round glasses reflected his slacking lemur co-worker’s visage, and the blue eyes behind those glasses shot the lemur such a glare, it was as if Milkie hoped to burn a hole straight through the back of his head.
Once again, the lemur was chatting up a rather ditzy lemming girl from the conjoined restaurant. Milkie could never be so sure if the air-headed girl’s destructive tendencies were simply due to her species, or if it was the way she was raised… That was a discussion for the Nature vs. Nuture debate.
The mouse had enough. He stormed over to the lemur and stood right in front of him, glaring up at his wide-eyed face. Of course, the lemur’s normally wide eyes were somewhat lidded… he was chewed – or as some would call it, stoned out of his tree. And of course he was stoned… the guy could rarely go a day without it.
“Tyler, isn’t there something you should be doing?” Milkie would ask, his voice dripping with disapproval.
Tyler shed one of his dopey, crooked-toothed grins. “I am, man,” The lemur said, “I’m supervising. No, wait, better… I’m hitting on chicks. That’s every man’s job.”
Milkie’s shoulders slumped. “NO!” He exclaimed, “No that’s not what you’re supposed to be doing! Get your ass back in that kitchen!”
Milkie stomped back to his station, and Tyler followed.
“What about him?” Tyler’s voice came from behind the mouse.
Milkie looked back to see what Tyler meant, and saw him pointing with one of those thin, dark fingers. The mouse trailed his gaze to where Tyler was pointing, and saw his other co-worker slacking off in much the same manner. He hadn’t been there when Milkie left… he had somehow snuck by without the mouse noticing him.
The guy was a big, chunky, block-headed gorilla… good for manual labor and fixing broken things around the restaurant, but no one would ever trust him with even basic mathematics. His name was Stewart… or Stu, as most liked to call him. Stu just happened to have his hands all over a particular server girl, a hyena waitress, giving her a shoulder and back rub rather shamelessly at the terminal where orders were rung in.
Milkie’s mouth was agape in awe at the display of bold-faced slacking. Not only that, but scolding one person while another was committing the same offense just made the mouse look stupid. Mount this on the earlier stress of a dinner rush that lasted three and a half hours in a kitchen that was severely under-staffed, and Milkie blew his top.
“Fuck! FUCK!” The mouse exclaimed, tugging the beak of his hat down over his glasses, “I… I fucking… I fucking HATE you guys! You don’t even fucking know!”
“Oh Milkie,” Tyler tsk’d, “You crack me up.”
That pretty much summarizes my night at work. ¬_¬
6 years, 6 months ago
26 Jul 2012 05:06 CEST