I was working at this fancy restaurant in chicago. They were doing a “soft opening” where each night they would allow the reservation list to grow just a little, to test the capabilities of the kitchen and front of house to keep up with the rush.
This had gone on for a week or two and management would address problems as they’d come up and so on.
Eventually one night we are fully open and the place is jammed. I’m splitting a section with two other waiters and we are swamped beyond belief. Patrons are literally waiting 30-45 minutes to get their first drinks. Food is getting lost. Total shitshow.
If you’ve never waited tables you may not know how stressful this scene is. Your adrenals are pumping, you’re sweating profusely, and just desperately trying to keep it all in focus so the whole thing doesn’t go overboard.
Of course the customers are upset and we’re apologizing and doing the best we can. But it’s getting worse and worse and worse and then all of a sudden, I see JP, one of the other waiters in my section, walking towards the stairs with his jacket on.
“Um…JP?” I asked
He just looks me dead in the eye and says, “I’m sorry.”
And walks out the door.
Which meant the other server and I were left with his tables in addition to our own.
It was a hilariously awful night but JP has always been the OG in the eyes of every other waiter on staff that night. When we all wanted to say fuck it, he actually did.
Tell me your best quitting stories.