Warning: Serving Trays May be Hazardous to Your Health

So, there I was hard at work Sunday afternoon (Presidents Day weekend) catering to large crowds in both dining room and bar area.  The place was packed with weekenders thankful for the beautiful weather after the sleet and snow of Saturday. 

All was running like clockwork with 8 servers and 2 bartenders and everyone is enjoying a good winter weekend at the beach.  What could be better?  Nothing, really.  What could go wrong?  Ha!  Glad you asked.  You DID ask, didn't you?

I had to visit the kitchen to alter a customer's food order and as I hurried back to my station and turned the corner to get back into my space, I smacked directly into an large, empty food serving tray that was left standing at an angle against the wall where I had to walk. It caught me, slid down the wall to the floor with half of my body-weight on it and as I struggled to remain upright and not sprawl across the dining room floor, my back twisted and snapped. Finally regained balance, but stars filled my eyes and I felt sick to my stomach. The pain was so intense I was shaking and sweating like a pig.  Fought against passing out.

If the boss had been there, that server would have been fired on the spot.  Nothing, NOTHING is to be left at the Host Station other than the Host, Menus, Telephone and Reservations terminal. That is one of the first rules taught to new servers, so there was no excuse.

I won't relate the conversation between the server and me; it makes me angry just thinking about it. Let me just say that he spent the rest of the afternoon avoiding me while I spent the rest of the afternoon in absolute agony.   I got precious little sleep that night (even the Flexeril didn't help) and had to drive to work yesterday because walking was too painful.

As the busy day wore on, the evening bartender arrived as a savior and handed me a painkiller. Upon downing that heaven-sent capsule I went back to work and tried as hard as I could not the let the pain show, though my strange walk was a dead give-away. It was stiff and zombie-ish, like there was a broomstick up my butt.

At 4 o'clock my relief arrived and as I prepared to leave, the GM Linda, presented a glass with the equivalent of 3 shots of Jameson's, instructed me to sip slowly, go home and go to bed. I drank standing up for fear that if I sat down I'd have great trouble getting up again.

The magic pill and Jameson's worked wonders and upon shedding the work drag I hit the bed and remember nothing til this morning. The pain is back again, though less intense. A good sign.

I may venture outdoors tomorrow, but today the plan calls for as little movement as possible. I must say, losing otherwise productive free days to this kind of situation is wearing on my gay nerves. There has to be some relief, somewhere.

And so it goes.
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