The Ranger wrote:
> I worked in a large steak house chain during my freshman year in college as
> the closing manager. It was steady work and not too challenging physically
> or mentally. I loved many aspects of this job really only dreading
> end-of-month because I found counting stock tedious and 10-keying
> mind-numbingly repetitive. I'd often arrive 30 minutes before my shift, get
> a cup of coffee, and spend the extra time chatting with the day crew on how
> smoothly (or not) their shifts went; this would give me a general idea how
> the evening was going to unfold.
>
> On this day, as I opened the front door and entered the air conditioned
> dining area, I was greeted by a group of customers standing with their backs
> to me and every table full. I sighed and excused my way past the crush of
> waiting customers to get to the back of house. So much for that preshift cup
> o' joe.
>
> It was confirmed beyond any doubt that it would be a very long evening as
> the unit manager greeted me at the dishroom door with a haggard, "I've been
> doin' grill. Carlos sliced his hand on the Hobart. He's okay, a dozen
> stitches, but I've been stuck working grill all shift."
>
> "And you've not pulled inventory or run the numbers." I finished.
>
> "Bingo. Sorry 'bout that. You don't have to work the floor tonight if you
> wanna get started."
>
> Being young and dumb, I simply shrugged my best WB animation lollypop [/jpeg
> sucker].
>
> I looked around the prep area at the employees working. "¡Jose!"
>
> The man, hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, stopped his mixing a batch of
> blue cheese dressing and looked over in my direction. "¡Patron! ¿Como es
> usted?"
>
> "¡Bueno, gracias amigo!"
>
> Jose, at only 5'3" was one of those back of house employees you could ask to
> do any work. He was built like a mini forklift, barrel-chested and broad
> shouldered. The only thing showing his 54 years was the peppered goatee. If
> asked a question, his answer was always the same, he'd shrug and say, "O.K."
>
> "¿Tiene usted cualquier plan para esta noche?"
>
> "No, patron."
>
> "¿Puede trabajar usted esta noche?"
>
> Jose smiled and shrugged with his usual, "O.K."
>
> "I'm good. We'll finish in record time. I'll help out front now." And I didn't
> again think of running the numbers until we closed the restaurant.
>
> The dinner rush was long, one of the most difficult I could remember, and
> filled with some really extreme customers. I heard several servers give
> voice to the "full moon" complaint throughout the evening. By 10:00pm, we
> said good night to the last customer, locked down every door, stacked the
> chairs, washed the tables, and Jose and I headed into the walk-ins and
> storage areas to start counting cases and cans, weighing loose and opened
> stock, and reorganizing the shelves as we went along. Pretty soon it was
> well-after midnight. The janitorial staff were in and out, the walls were
> washed, tile flooring scrubbed, and bullpen hosed down. With the final tub
> of salt weighed and our visual count ended I took my hand-written sheaf of
> numbers to the office to quickly run them while Jose volunteered to autoperk
> another pot of Mexican Black.
>
> I was just finishing off the first page when Jose came screaming around the
> corner and slammed the office door behind him panting and yammering some
> unprintable strings of Spanish. He was wild-eyed. He parked his back to the
> wall and pinned the door closed with his feet constantly yammering at me.
>
> I'd been robbed once prior and it wasn't something I ever wanted to
> experience again. I was freaked pretty badly. I was just able to dial 911.
> As the two of us sat there leaning against the door, I tried to get him to
> talk to me. All he'd do is shake his head and mutter while his body
> shuddered uncontrollably. I managed to get him calmed down enough to
> _finally_ stutter and stammer that he'd seen someone walk out of The Cage
> (our storage garage in the back) and into the bathroom right near our
> server's station. "Great; a robbery. That would cap a perfect shift," I
> thought.
>
> Within minutes, the local police had arrived and were banging on the glass
> of the front door.
>
> It was a physical challenge to pull Jose away from the floor in front of
> that office door but I managed.
>
> As I ran out of the office, I jumped the counter and slid across the
> still-wet floor tile. I also [somehow] managed to find the key to the lock
> and turn it but I was shaking like a leaf in a wind storm. As I opened the
> door, I tattled like a 5-yo cranked on a speedball to the two officers.
> Jose, unwilling to be left in the office alone, had also followed me out and
> across the counter. We were immediately shooed out of the restaurant and
> taken into custody in our parking lot where two more squad cars were pulling
> up-and-into slots. The officers went through the whole place, each closet,
> stall, walk-in and finally The Cage. We were both (Jose and I) still shaking
> uncontrollably while the officers worked their way through the darkened
> restaurant. A corporal had been the last officer to arrive and started
> pulling the story, slowly, from Jose.
>
> It seems Jose, while making that pot of coffee in the station, thought he
> saw someone in the hall back by The Cage and got curious. He went to go
> ask. As he entered the darkened hallway, this guy walked right out of the
> restroom door (without opening said door) and looked right at Jose standing
> there. Jose did the only thing he could think of and ran into my office.
> Since my good looks and 5'8", 144 lb. body were such deterrents to violence,
> he figured I'd save him.
>
> Officers Ruiz stopped listening at "walked out of the door." Officers
> Gonzalez, Remington, Smith and Wesson radioed an "all clear" signal and
> pretty soon were back outside. The officers continued questioning us but
> soon three of the five drifted off to finish their evening's patrol. I
> invited Officers Smith and Wesson in for some coffee so they could do their
> reports. The two politely accepted and we all headed back inside. Jose stuck
> around to jabber at me some more as I finished my numbers and closed up the
> restaurant.
>
> The next day, the unit manager read my log entry and called me before I'd
> made it out the door to school. He simply said, "I don't close this place
> for a reason. Don't stay that late again."
>
> The Ranger
>
>

When did you start suffering from narcissism? This is classic!

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