Too Much Plate On Your Plate

(I work in the dining room of an assisted living home as a waitress. My manager is a super great guy who trusts his employees and is usually laid back. This all changes whenever he has to work the line though, which is fortunately a rare occurrence. One night the head chef calls out sick, so the manager works the line. He comes by me, carrying a stack of 20 incredibly heavy plates.)

Me: “Whoa! Hey, those are really heavy. You should probably limit yourself to ten at a time, at most.”

Manager: “They are not that heavy, and I’m out of plates. I need as many as possible! This saves me time!”

Supervisor: “[My Name] is right; you—”

Manager: “Just because you two have trouble lifting things doesn’t mean the plates are heavy! Now grab your dishes and go!”

(My supervisor and I share a look, but we both silently decide to drop it. We grab our plates from the line and drop them off at the tables. As I’m walking back, I hear an enormous crash and I run back to see what happened. The entire kitchen floor is covered in shattered pieces of ceramic. My manager is standing in the middle of it, staring down at the broken ceramic, completely flabbergasted. My supervisor rushes in behind me.)

Supervisor: “What happened?”

Manager: *sheepishly* “The plates fell…”

Supervisor: “How many were you carrying?”

Manager: *looking like he wishes he could disappear* “Twenty…”

Supervisor: *sighs* “[Coworker], go grab the brush and dustpan, and clean this up. [My Name], go get [Manager] some plates from [Dishwasher]. [Manager], go back to the line and don’t leave until service is over.”

Manager: *muttering while sulking off* “But the plates aren’t that heavy…”

(He wasn’t allowed to carry plates after that.)