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I’ve wrapped up a table’s leftovers and am about to return them and greet a new table of customers, when I’m asked to deliver a plate of hot food from the kitchen. Sure, I’m headed towards the bar, and the plate goes to a table in the dining room – the opposite direction – but whatever. With a hot plate of pasta in my right hand and my bagged to-go box in the left, I head to the 400’s.
[Co-worker] is already at the table, delivering another entrée plate. One of the customers seated at the table picks up their large salad serving plate, to make room for the arriving entrees, and holds it up for one of us to take. I asked [co-worker] to take it back to the kitchen, showing him the bagged to-go box in my other hand, but he replies, “No, I, uh ... [unintelligible gibberish],” and walks away. Thanks, Mr. Helpful!
So as I’m trying to take the empty salad plate with my left hand (also holding the to-go bag) and set down the hot plate of pasta with my right hand, I begin to wonder why my fingers are on fire. That’s when the woman seated in front of me starts screaming. Oh, I see. Burning hot stinky garlic pasta juice is pouring off the plate - which I’m apparently not holding level - and onto my fingers, then down onto this poor woman’s back.
Oops.
I don’t know exactly how hot it was, but I'm getting a blister from it. (Someone had better call me a ‘waaaaambulance’!)
When I later returned to their table to apologize to the woman, I began by saying, “It’s okay, you’re safe. I’m not holding anything hot this time.” The burn victim and her family were good natured about it; she said she was just glad it was a clear broth instead of a red sauce that would have stained her blouse.
Cool.
Maybe she won't sue me.
[Edit: I spoke with a chef yesterday ... he told me the sauce in that dish is at 200 degrees (F) when it's put in the window. So, that's like twice as hot as a hot hot summer day. Ouch!]
[Co-worker] is already at the table, delivering another entrée plate. One of the customers seated at the table picks up their large salad serving plate, to make room for the arriving entrees, and holds it up for one of us to take. I asked [co-worker] to take it back to the kitchen, showing him the bagged to-go box in my other hand, but he replies, “No, I, uh ... [unintelligible gibberish],” and walks away. Thanks, Mr. Helpful!
So as I’m trying to take the empty salad plate with my left hand (also holding the to-go bag) and set down the hot plate of pasta with my right hand, I begin to wonder why my fingers are on fire. That’s when the woman seated in front of me starts screaming. Oh, I see. Burning hot stinky garlic pasta juice is pouring off the plate - which I’m apparently not holding level - and onto my fingers, then down onto this poor woman’s back.
Oops.
I don’t know exactly how hot it was, but I'm getting a blister from it. (Someone had better call me a ‘waaaaambulance’!)
When I later returned to their table to apologize to the woman, I began by saying, “It’s okay, you’re safe. I’m not holding anything hot this time.” The burn victim and her family were good natured about it; she said she was just glad it was a clear broth instead of a red sauce that would have stained her blouse.
Cool.
Maybe she won't sue me.
[Edit: I spoke with a chef yesterday ... he told me the sauce in that dish is at 200 degrees (F) when it's put in the window. So, that's like twice as hot as a hot hot summer day. Ouch!]
I AM the evil bastard!
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