A Night Off

I sent Whitey home at 3pm yesterday, and insisted that he not come back to work unless I called him.

Usually when I tell him this, he shows up at around 5:30 whether I ask him to or not. So when 6pm came around and he wasn’t there yet, we all were surprised.

Our kitchen guy was able to hustle the make line, our front gal ran the dining room and phones, and I raced around town doing deliveries.

I was on my way back to work from a delivery, and stopped in at home to give Whitey a hug. He wasn’t anywhere upstairs, and so I ventured into the basement (ManCave) and found him on the sofa with 225lbs. of dogs smothering him. I’m not sure if it was my husband or the rottweiler snoring, but it truly was heart-warming. I snuck out without waking him.

I went back to work, and we all worked double-time to get the place cleaned up and ready for Friday.

I was home before nine o’clock, which is astounding.

Whitey was awake when I got home, and said that he felt guilty having the entire afternoon and night off. Guilty.

To take six hours off, on just one slow day. He shouldn’t feel guilty at all.

I’m going to put an ad in the paper and try to find another kitchen person. We’ve been too busy to handle everything by ourselves, and shouldn’t try to.

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