the restaurant.

It was crazy busy Sunday night. Like, I kind of lost my mind. Maureen and I were running around, smashing into things. Pots were thrown, profanities were uttered (English and Portuguese), and at one point I burst into tears because that was literally the only option.

Waitressing is hard, but waitressing when the hostess/phone person is gone...impossible. We tried. We tried very hard. But it was vitually impossible to wait on my customers and try to take delivery orders. At one point, the phone just rang and rang because WHAT WERE WE SUPPOSED TO DO?

At one point, during a huge HUGE language miscommunication, we all just stood screaming at each other. I can't think of a lot of work situations where this behavior would be tolerated, but restaurants are a separate entity. I also can't think of a lot of other situations where you can work really closely with people whose English is based on the crappy use of Italian on our menu. It can be extremely frustrating, the communication through hand motions and other random words like "lettuce" and "plastic."

However, another nice thing about restaurants is that everything is pretty easily forgiven and forgotten. The rush ends, the shift is over, everyone takes a second to breathe. Tempers diffuse. Suddenly one of the cooks winks at me seductively, I bop the salad guy with a roll, Albert messes up another pizza. You know, the usual.
It's nice, this little family. We completely piss each other off, but we don't hold grudges.

Although, knowing how to say "I'm sorry" in Portuguese is always helpful.