Day at Work

It's Friday and for most of us, that brings a big yeeha for an upcoming weekend. But for those of us that work in retail, specifically, restaurants, the weekends are no break.
But it's ok. My husband and I have owned this restaurant for 15 years. For the last 6 or so, we've hired only a very part time waiter and two dishwashers. The older of the two now doubles as a cook. There are about 12 of us, but only 7 at a time that work together. Three wait staff, one dishwasher, 3 cooks and a partridge in a pear tree.
Because we've all been working together for so long, going to work is more like summer camp than an occupation. We know each other so well and have so many inside joke things that the dishwasher says he can't ever leave because it's the only place he ever laughs. I have to admit, I know what he means. When I am home and writing or reading or cleaning or cooking or walking my Mag (our black dog), I am quiet and thinking. I love this time. But when the time comes to go to work, I am relieved of the silence.
The restaurant is bustling. Dishes make a lot of noise. The grill is out in the dining room and the searing of meats and the exhaust fan make a lot of noise. The waitresses are LOUD. They think they are home and forget to use their inside voices when yelling to Joe Smoe about a coffee refill from across the room.
I walk behind the counter to get to my post, the cash register, and on the way I hear the old farts doing their usual complaining about life at the counter. One complains about taxes, the other wants to sell his house but doesn't want anyone to walk through it if he's not there, the next one brags about money.
The RED SOX beat the Yankees again and the noise just from that could send small animals running for cover. Most of us are Red Sox fans but we have one dodo Yankee fan.
Thursday afternoons are typically slow. One of these afternoons a while back, the lamb of the bunch of us, our 19 year old dishwasher, touched somebody else gently and said, "You're it."
Something about those words sinks down into your 5 year old self and stirs up a desperate need to get rid of "It". ASAP. Before I know it, my 63 year old waiter is RUNNING after my 280 pound cook until he corners him to tag him. Sometimes the transfer of the tag goes around the store so fast that it's hard to know who is IT. So we become paranoid about bumping into anyone, making arched backs when in tight spots and taking the long way around the room. Once in a while there are customers we don't know in there during this playtime and I have to remind us all to keep the noise down and no running. Just like preschool.
Have you ever been in a restaurant where the staff is playing tag? You may wonder why I allow this. We are like a well oiled machine. When we have to kick into high gear during busy times, and that is often, we do it. We help each other, we get along like a family. We get the work done. That doesn' t mean we are always nice in the heat of the moment, but all is forgotten and forgiven when it's over.
But when everyone has eaten and most of the crowd clears out, we can't all go on a break like cubicle people do. We can't leave the grill and register and phone. I allow adult playtime because we need it. They need it. It bonds them, it relaxes them, it makes them more productive. Although it may not look like it as they are calling each other names and insulting their teams.
Everyone should be so lucky to work under such ridiculous conditions.