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The Fainting Managing Director

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Written by: Rod Boyle

Category: Blog

Published: 07 December 2021

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I am forever on tenterhooks, this job, it's the sum of all trifles and causing me no end of anxiety. 

I've never had so much the feeling that I wasn't getting it in my life. And it doesn't help to be living out of a hostel, where never can you find a moment alone or peace of mind.

Saturday evening, I've a small party of 12. Largely non-drinkers, of an ethnic group popular in the lower mainland. Friendly enough, 12 around the table. It's a staff party for a (support group for a doctor).

So they are sat, the room is tight, everything is set up for them. Only - for some reason the Doctor himself, a slight, perhaps mid 40's gentleman, has occasion to feel dizzy and faint in his chair at the head.

There's panic - pandemonium - everyone is dipping their napkin in the Champagne bucket, cold wet cloths, trying to revive him, Is it a stroke? A heart-attack? Low blood sugar? He just recently had dental surgery! And now everyone is ordering their own family quack remedy while he lies sprawled upon the chairs, everyone has a family secret, potion, cure, elixir that we're to make up and use to revive him - a lady, ordering me sternly to have the bar prepare a mixture of salt, sugar, lemon & water for him to drink, another has another suggestion, someone wants an Aspirin, Chef appears, wants no Aspirin passed out, we're not a hospital, perhaps they should cancel their reservation and take him away...

At this he miraculously revives, and I can't help but think, if he's fainting now what's he going to do when he gets the bill? And I'm suspicious of this whole thing, that maybe, just maybe he wanted a little attention from his employees, a little appreciation, I'm a cultural outsider but I'm getting the idea that this is how they do things...

The night progresses, I make a botched order sheet for the kitchen - didn't leave enough room for the variety of steaks they wanted - largely medium well or well done, in itself a crime, didn't account for the gluten free, the spice free, the vagaries of each order, my ordering chit - frankly - sucks, and Chef is pissed at me in a quiet way. 

This is not good.

The beginning of the shift I had received instruction on the seat numbers for each large party - my order sheet the night before had been incorrect - "not my fault" - but - it was - tonight - the dread of work and I will receive instruction again.

The job, in itself, reasonably simple - technically there is nothing here I can't do - but overcoming the anxiety that stifles me, drenches the place - this is another thing entirely, and I'm not sure I'm up to the task. If they keep me on it's merely because another trainee is not working out, overheard that he's too often not available when needed, has to leave early, and this is not the sort of job where you make other plans.

I loathe that I need this job; my circumstances - bleak, but doubly so in that I cannot fault the restaurant - it's me that needs remedying.