Whenever there is a tragedy-whether it is breaking news or a call from the family phone tree-I bow my head and say a prayer.
Today is one of those days.
The tragedy, you may ask?
Fat-Ass Flannigan from Accounting didn’t get her cream of tomato soup.
Hashtag RealProbs …Hashtag CryMeARiver...Hashtag FlanniganIsAFatAss.
Sure the menu posted promised cream of tomato soup.
And, certainly, most definitely, the pot is chock full of delicious piping hot chicken noodle.
Flannigan is having none of it. She is furious as she stands before me-paws clenched, her jaw flopping a mile a minute, her face as red as, well, as a tomato.
I want to tell her the real story…
Chef Shelly made the cream of tomato soup this morning. Shelly explained it all to me very eloquently, as only she can.
“I brought it to a boil on the tabletop burner, stirred the sonofabitch, turned to grab the lid and my goddamn apron string got caught between the wall and the table. And, when I pulled to get unstuck…I pulled too damn hard and shook the table.”
“The fuckin’ pot flipped right on the god.damn.floor…Shelly shrugged and nodded at the 86 board on the west wall and said, “86 Tomato Soup…I put it on the board.
And as tragic as it may or may not sound, the truth is we have no tomato soup. Hurry someone heat up a pot of the Chicken Noodle.
I’m not wasting my breath on that story with Flannigan. She won’t care. She never does.
Most days we are lucky to sell two cups of tomato soup all day long…and as luck would have it; Fat Ass Flannigan and Ineeda Laxative from HR were at the counter…rapid firing the questions.
FAF: “LOOK, LOOK, this doesn’t LOOK like tomato soup”
ME: “Because it is Chicken Noodle”
IL: “Can you explain WHY the menu says Tomato…because this clearly is not tomato”
ME: “Cream of Tomato wasn’t on the delivery this morning-I improvised-and adjusted accordingly”
FAF: “Unacceptable. Unacceptable. How do “you people” get away with this crap…mark my words… someone is going to hear about this…and heads are going to roll. She hissed unacceptable once more before filling her cup with the alternative and mumbled something about guessing that it would have to do.
There could be worse things. Like death…cancer…or having one leg shorter than the other.
But don’t tell that to Fat Ass Flannigan from Accounting.
We bow our heads as we think about the tragedy unfolding before us here today.
There is no tomato soup.
And, we pray for a steadier table beneath the burners tomorrow.
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