It was dead slow this morning, so I didn’t go in to the restaurant until about 11:45.
I experimented with a few new recipes, and nothing too chaotic happened. Whitey left at 1 p.m. with our standing rule of “Call if you get busy.”
Then this happened, only fifteen minutes later:
I immediately tried to call him… no answer.
I sent him the photo above, with a one-word message… no answer.
I called again a half an hour later, with tickets still flying off the printer…. no answer.
We handled it, everyone got their food quickly, it was cooked properly, but still! My adreneline was pumping hard!
When I got home a little while ago, Whitey was downstairs in the Man Cave, lounging on the sofa watching TV.
I was covered in flour, and still wet from doing five bus tubs of dishes.
“Wow,” he said. “You are a mess.”
Turns out that he had left his phone in his work pants, which were still upstairs after changing into his lounge pants.
I hope he gets his butt kicked at work tonight. I have the night off, and am heading to a beer-tasting dinner. Toodles!