, , , , , , , , , ,

I don’t think I’ve published anything here for a while. For starters, the diner which inspired this blog called me up on Valentine’s Day and asked me to come back and work. I had a glorious 5 1/2 month mini vacation.

But my bank account was getting sad, so I gratefully accepted.

During this mini vacation of mine, the Cook got into the habit of telling Kiwi, “If you need me, ring the bell.” The ‘bell’ was nothing more than a metal container that holds extra spoons. After a night or two of that, I thought it would be funny to buy a real bell.

So I did. And two months later, that bell is rather convenient.

1 ding = I’m leaving a coffee / soda for Cook.

2 dings = Order in.

3 dings = Food up.

3ish frantic dings = Cook has a question about an order.

Uncountable amount of dings = One of us is being obnoxious because.. well.. It’s what we do.

Being a slow night, Cook took it upon himself to get some cleaning done in the back kitchen (a second, larger area set behind a partial wall). As I was writing up some checks for new orders, I heard him walking around behind the line.

His footsteps stopped abruptly, and with my back still turned away, I figured he had seen me and was waiting. Only, when I turned around, I noticed he was no where to be seen. No big deal. I stabbed the checks onto their holding spike, and reached for the bell.

No bell. Puzzled, I shrugged and started to step towards the toasters.

UP SPRANG THE COOK from his hiding place under his side of the line. He gave an evil cackle laced with amusement and set the bell back to where I could reach it.