I'd spent the days prior potting up an array of colourful bedding plants so the garden looked tip top ready for the holiday and was feeling pretty darn proud of my efforts,in fact I'd go so far as to say that I had in fact created The Chelsea Flower Show of the North but without the crowds..a comment surely destined to come back and bite me on the backside before the weekend was out.
Anyway, the sun was shining,I was chipper and I thought I'd get Chef outside to appreciate my efforts.
'Have you got a minute?'
Giving feedback on the status of my horticultural efforts is not exactly high on the list of Chef based priorities on the morning of a Bank Holiday but no matter I pressed on..
'Can you to come and have a quick look at my garden?'
I hadn't noticed nearby and within earshot, a recent employee who has turned out to be, shall we say,a bit of a loose cannon..
There was a loud guffaw followed by
'I HOPE THAT WASN'T A EUPHEMISM'
[More raucous laughter]
I briefly considered deploying a pious face,due to the fact that this particular lad has barely worked for us for a month but in the event I don't possess one and furthermore found the whole thing bloody hilarious.So despite the fact that I'm becoming increasingly convinced that I'm living on the set of Fawlty Towers,the day couldn't have started off in better humour.
*Insert LOUD WARNING KLAXON here*
A cursory glance at the laptop to check the bookings,just to see if we'd been inundated with last minute revellers overnight revealed a bit of an anomaly.As I peered in close to the screen, I happened to notice two bookings under the same name with the little speech bubble icon indicating there was some sort of special requirement.
Diners without special requirements are becoming an absolute rarity these days,from eating likes,dislikes,tables with good light,tables with a view,comfortable seats,chairs with high backs,quiet tables( it's a public house-rather self explanatory I would have thought?) to last week a first:
'I dont like the finish on the table can you put a tablecloth on it?'
In short-you name it we've had it.
So imagine my surprise to click on the little speech bubble to see the following rather peremptory comment:
'I've booked two separate tables of four at different times as I couldn't get availability,so seated at one table(8 guests) please at our chosen time 1pm.'
FML
You may be surprised to learn that booking a table for a time you don't want then turning up at the time you DO want is a not unheard of activity,however, two separate tables at different times is what Chef would refer to as Fuckwittery on an Industrial Scale.
SIGH.
I spent the next half hour frantically trying to rearrange the table plan to accommodate this command which put me behind schedule, so consequently I was in a bit of a flap by the time I got around to mopping the floor in the gents (always with copious amounts of bleach-just to make sure there's no unpleasant whiff hanging around).
Being ever so slightly distracted, I didn't immediately notice that the cubicle door was closed.
A closed toilet door is an ominous sign, similar in nature,but one step down from a closed toilet seat.A closed toilet seat always incurs an audible groan,it’s a grim warning that there’s something not very nice purposefully hidden from view.
In fact a closed toilet seat is the Hellmouth of the catering world.
People will sniff out a shitter from miles away if they’re desperate,so the fact that we weren’t yet open was definitely no guarantee there was no one in there.Over the years I’ve walked in on various delivery persons,the postman(regularly) and one year several persons en route to Appleby for the annual horsefair, using our facilities as a complimentary campsite wash room.
‘Is there someone in there?’I called out,pausing briefly, head cocked to one side awaiting a response.. Reader,I nearly shit myself when the sorry sounding voice called back:
‘Yes it’s me’
I had no idea who *me* was.Shock can result in the blatantly stupidest of questions,but then you’d be surprised what people get up to in the bog out of the usual sphere of activities..(which reminds me there was a pair of NEXT undercrackers found on top of the gents HIGH level cistern last week-any ideas???)
‘What are you doing?’
Further another pause...then
'I’m not well’
JESUS CHRIST WE ALL KNOW EXACTLY WHAT THAT MEANS..I bashed on..
‘What’s wrong with you?’
(SOB)
‘I’ve got a poorly stomach’
I ditched the mop immediately and made a beeline to the kitchen to look for backup.As I related the garbled tale to Chef it began to dawn on me that I may well have recognised the vaguely familiar voice as belonging to one of our kitchen porters,Popmaster.
Popmaster was ten minutes late.
Popmaster is never late.
Ten further minutes passed with still no sign of the loo being vacated and I was getting tetchy,only half an hour till opening and I was now WELL behind schedule.
Just then Chef’s phone rang and he began pacing the kitchen,distractedly peering under the benches..
‘I can bring you a potato sack?’
Popmaster had called from the toilet cubicle asking for a spare pair of trousers.
JESUS, MARY, JOSEPH AND THE DONKEY THEY RODE ON....
In the absence of a ‘spare pair of trousers’ ever resourceful,Chef had suggested the next best thing.
A POTATO SACK.
There was a solemn brief two minute silence in the kitchen as we all gathered to watch Chef through the window as he entered the toilet block, handy spud sack in hand.
He reappeared immediately,eyes watering.
All was not well.
'I’ll have to give him an apron to wrap around himself- he’ll have to go home and get changed.’
Me,ever symapthetic:
‘You’re not getting one of my FOH aprons,can you not cut a couple of holes in the bottom of the sack for his legs?’
*Eye roll*
'Go upstairs and see if you can find him something..anything’ said Chef.
‘I know I’ll get him a towel-that’ll do’
I’m ashamed to admit that for some reason I was strangely drawn to the large blue Noddy towel that had been lying at the bottom of the airing cupboard since the fateful (never to be repeated) coach trip to the South of France when the kids were little and where tempers had frayed culminating in The Sensible One(in direct contravention of his name and reputation) standing up and planting an excellently placed left hook,one that Connor Macgregor would have been proud of, on the passenger in the seat directly behind, in mitigation,after 5 hours relentless toe poking in the back.
I digress,anyway the beach towel had been shoved out of sight a sorry memory of times best forgotten.. I handed it to Chef with a wry smile,validating myself mentally that I hadn’t gone for the pink 'My Little Pony' option.
‘Tell him I don’t want it back’
A small audience briefly ceased working for the second time and peered again through the window with grim curiousity just as Popmaster appeared.
‘Thats quite an ironic site’ I said
‘How?’ said Chef‘
'Well considering the very person who asked me last week what had gone wrong in Lieutenant Tank's life to be 'waiting on at his age',is now climbing the back steps to the car park,Noddy towel kilt swaying in the breeze,clutching a large potato sack with unspeakably soiled undergarments contained therein..’
Sigh.
 |
| Wrap yourself in some Scottish Pride |
‘That’s the last we’ll see of him’ I said as he disappeared from view,
‘Dont be ridiculous’ said Chef ‘he wont give a shit’ (no pun intended)..
An hour later and well into the rush there was still no sign of Popmaster and dishes were beginning to pile up.
Due to the trauma of the morning I was feeling slightly emotional(well more than usual) and sadly allowed the couple who come in regularly for lunch and who complain bitterly EVERY visit without fail and have done for the last five years,to get to me.
Something snapped.
There was an unfortunate outburst,followed by tears(mine) only the second time in ten years a customer has managed to push me this far over the edge..
On my umpteenth circuit through the kitchen,with regular remonstrations to chef over the general unfairness of life,and with the sink beginning to look like a mini model of the Three Peaks challenge, suddenly a loud cheer went up as a freshly showered Popmaster reappeared.
‘Sorry I’m late,I had to hang around in the car for half an hour until the coast was clear’
With the window open,one hopes...
'Told you' said Chef,smirking.
Returning to the bar with a spring in my step,no need to lose a Front of House member to pot washing duties, I noticed a rather well dressed lady,the sort who would probably pop her hubsters sheepskin mules in the Aga for ten minutes ready for his return from the office at six, appear in the doorway,with two seniors in tow.I wouldn't say the elders were infirm, but judging by the speed of entry, I'd estimate they set off from the car park at 9am.
I thought I'd better try and get them seated asap.
'Do we just sit anywhere?' said the more agile younger woman as she headed for the dining room,without waiting for a response.
I dashed over to impart the bad news.
"Im sorry the dining room is full today-but I can offer you a seat in our lovely bar area?'
I nodded encouragungly.
Now normally,the dining room is a hard sell,people want tables in the area where they can SEE the bar so this was a very unusual occurrence indeed.
'Oh no we want to sit in the dining room'
Herein lies another great unsolved mystery of the world of hospitality..
How can one sit at a table that already has OTHER people sitting at it??
Spell it out.
'Well I'm sorry as you can see the tables are all taken'
She was momentarly thrown,looking around for a better option.
I heard her comment irritatedly to the other two that it was a busy place and how they might go try and find somewhere else quieter.
Good luck with that one on a Bank Holiday..
The trek from the car park must have taken its toll however, so the three of them had a change of heart and decided to take on some liquid before pressing on.She indicated they would sit in the garden.
Phew.
I'd almost forgotten about them by the time the more agile woman reappeared at the bar to buy the drinks.At this rate they'd be eating dinner not lunch by the time they arrived at the next place.
And imagine if the chill wasn't taken off the slippers at six??
End of days.
As I passed her the drinks and requested payment I thought I detected a slight hesitation as she handed over the cash,I wondered briefly if she wanted me to bring the drinks out for her,something I'd normally offer on a quieter day but the queue at the bar was beginning to extend out through the door and you could almost cut the air of impatience with a knife.
I needed to get some of these people away from the bar quick smart.The most effective method is to smile as you hand over the change then immediately make eye contact with the next person in the queue before the current has a chance to waylay you further.
Its like a living full stop, a live punctuation mark is how I look at it.
It works every time,thankfully she took the cue.
Now normally I'm like Action Man Eagle Eyes when it comes to the customers, but the unfortunate upshot of this technique is that you don't fully register the next person in the queue until they are right in front of you,due to the blinkered eye contact.
So I was surprised to see the Hyacinth Bouquet woman back at the bar again so soon.
' I think youve made a mistake with my drinks bill'
God Almighty.
'Really?' 'What was the problem?'
'well I think you've overcharged me.£10.30 seems rather expensive to me.Well actually its not expensive,its quite cheap compared to London prices but when I come up North I dont expect to be paying those prices.'
I could remember her drinks but top of my head wasnt exactly sure of the prices so had to manually look them up on the till,meanwhile the queue was reforming and all my hard work over the last ten minutes was defunct.
I could sense the outrage and was a bit worried the gentleman (I use this term in the loosest possible sense) next in the queue might not be responsible for his own actions before long.
Of course the bill was correct and bloody bargainous at that price for one Estrella,a gin & tonic and Fentimans Ginger beer.
I beamed in a self satisfied Sybil Fawlty manner and asked politely if she would like a copy of the receipt.
The gentleman next in the queue was by now visibly disgruntled and impatient for the bill for his food,I grabbed it from the check board and had just about got it all on the till when I was flummoxed to see an item which i couldn't quite make out on the order.It looked very like USP and desperately trying to decide what our USP was, I frantically went through the menu mentally scanning for a possible match.In desperation and in the absence of the culprit who took the order whom I'd just seen taking food outside,I made an executive decision and decided to leave the item off the bill.
Collateral damage,if you will.
Much later when things had quietened off and the bill omission came back to mind I pulled up the Loose Cannon to enquire politely what USP might be.
'Ah'
Small pause for a very self impressed grin.
'That's USA'
'And?'
'USA.....its an Americano.......thats what *I* call it'
Reader, he was visibly swaggering in a worryingly Accidental Partridge manner like he'd just solved the Times crossword clue that nobody else could get.
I looked him unfalteringly straight in the eye without so much a glimmer of amusement.
'Not here you fucking don't'
My next kitchen circuit gave further cause for concern.Heart sinking I observed Popmaster,fists clenched,eyes screwed up with obvious strain. ‘Oh no.. not again..’
‘It’s ok’ said Chef cheerily ‘he’s only trying to remember who sang *'Looking through Gary Gilmore’s eyes’
The fact that our KP’s knowledge may have extended to a forty year old song about a mass murderer by a one hit wonder punk band, on reflection turned out ot be the least surprising event of the day....
*Its The Adverts in case you're wondering..
