The Best Crash

Coming down the middle room from the kitchen to the front, I turned the corner by the terrarium in time to see Muggs, headed to the front of the bar. Muggs was slender and short, so short she barely came up to the tray she was carrying. It was so loaded it outweighed her. Sandwiches and fries and ketchup bottles and mustard jars and the tray was bending at both ends. It seemed to flap slowly, as gracefully as long-winged bird in a thermal. But this was an illusion. What was happening was, the ends of the tray were so overloaded they were not moving up and down at all; it was the middle that was rising and falling on Mugg's shoulder, in tune with her step. Her face was set, grim, and determined. I couldn't help and I couldn't watch. I turned back toward the dining room, to find out if maybe there were some other catastrophe I could busy myself with, maybe someone giving birth under table four or something. After all, she might make it, she was a good waitress, she was strong, she had made it that far, yeah,she was gonna make it fine, no problem... The crash, when it came, covered the spectrum of white noise, from the thud of the tray itself, to the middle range breakup of every plate, the high end tinkle of shattering glass, an enthusiastic rolling wucka wucka wucka of a ketchup bottle trying to escape the carnage.

I wheeled and came back, to witness the multicolored oozing disaste which spread out on the floor, blocking the entrance, a hurdle to our guests, a hallucinogenic obstacle designed by a demented kindergardener. Muggs was still vertical, elbows on the bar, her forehead in her hands, quietly repeating to herself, "I can't stand it, I just cannot stand it." The cacophony had attracted a busboy, who was frozen in place, eyes open wide to admit this news. I prodded him into motion, and headed back to the kitchen. We had a sandwich called the Chris Bishop Memorial Vegomatic Sandwich Kit. The choices included four breads, three cheeses, and about seven veggies, yielding 84 possible permutations of lunch. This order, I soon discovered, consisted of seven Chris Bishop Memorial Vegematic Sandwich Kits, none alike. I came into the kitchen just in time to witness Seed ripping the order slip down and stabbing it on the spindle like he really wanted to hurt it, saying, "Thank God, I never wanna see another order like that again. "I told him he had to do it over. That's when I--and most of the restaurant--learned Seed's opinion of the Chris Bishop Veggie Kit.

--Martin Richard