Table 11 and the scampi lady

My first hotel job was at a Hyatt Regency where I was hired as a busboy and worked my way up to waiter. I worked in the fine dining restaurant which overlooked the Long Beach Harbor and the Pacific. It was a stunning view and since the hotel was located next to the performing arts center, on theatre nights, we got a good early rush of diners (some with walkers and oxygen tanks). It was during one of these theatre rushes that the most unfortunate thing happened to one of my customers.

Just before we opened, the manager called line-up to review all the specials with the staff and to do a uniform and grooming check. (We had an uptight manager who was known to send people home for dirty fingernails.) Having finished the line-up, we were dispatched to our stations to await the opening of the doors and the mad geriatric rush. (I think it was opera that night at the theatre.)

Within about 15 minutes, all the tables in my section were full, and I knew I had to get them all fed and out the door in time for the show. It was a mad rush, but we didn't mind, these nights tended to be profitable. About halfway through the madness, I was waiting in the kitchen for one of my orders to come up. Just as the chef was putting the finished plates in the window, I noticed a little tickle in my nose, and as I wiped the rim of the plates to place them on the oval tray, I sniffed and snorted a bit to make the tickle go away. Then I picked up the tray with the four plates and started to head out of the kitchen. My nose still tickled a bit like there was one skinny booger attached inside the nose with the free end quivering with the flow of air. Each time I breathed, I felt the little tickle and so I errantly tried sniffing and snorting some more to dislodge the thing, or at least get it to stop tickling me. Truth be told, I wasn't even thinking about it, it was like an itch you scratch but aren't even cognizant that you're doing it.

I arrived at table 11 and set down the tray jack and placed the tray upon it. I picked up the two plates destined for the female customers and it was then that the source of tickling dislodged and I watched with horror as it flew directly into the plate of scampi that I was holding in my right hand. (It was amoeba-like with a nosehair stuck in it) It seemed like time stood still for me as I held that plate, wondering what to do. I thought about how I could make up an excuse and whisk it back to the kitchen. I thought about the appreciation the chefs would have for my predicament (they would have thrown things at me) and I thought about how to explain it to the customer.

"Waiter, is there something wrong?"

Unfortunately, time hadn't stopped still for them, and they didn't understand why I wasn't putting the plates down already. Clearly they could see I was holding the scampi, the very thing they had ordered, and I just couldn't think on the spot fast enough to explain why I needed to take it back to the kitchen. So, I went ahead and put the plate down in front of the customer. The scampi, with it's garlic and butter and herbs was the perfect camouflage for such an addition to the recipe.

I felt really bad about it, but there was still the matter of getting the food out to my other tables and off I went to get through it.

"Enjoy your dinner folks!"

When I returned to check on them, they had finished their meals. The scampi lady was soaking up the last remaining liquid on her plate with bread, every last solid morsel already consumed.

This was twenty years ago, and to this day, I still feel guilty.