Blisteringly Quick Service

(I am working as a server in a sit-down national chain restaurant, when our fantastic general manager is promoted to district manager, and leaves the building. The kitchen manager, who never really liked me, is promoted to general manager. Shortly after this change occurs, we are understaffed with a full dining room, folks at the bar, and a wait. After checking on my tables, I go to the kitchen to help run food. We don’t have trays for food, so I carefully stack three plates on my left arm, take the fourth with my right, and head to the table. About 3/4 of the way there, I realize one of the plates is super hot, and is starting to burn my arm. The table I’m taking the food to is not mine.)

Me: “Okay, who had the burger?”

(The customers ignore me.)

Me: “Anyone? The burger?”

(The customers continue to ignore me. By this time, my arm feels like it is on fire from the hot plate.)

Me: “Okay! You look like a burger kind of guy!”

Customer: “Oh, uh, yeah, that’s mine.”

(I give the rest of the table their food, dash behind the bar to drape a towel dampened with cold water over my arm, which is red, and looks like it is starting to blister. I take care of my tables, but the burn on my arm is starting to throb, so I go to find the manager on duty. She is in the kitchen, helping expedite with the general manager.)

Me: “Hey, [Manager], I know we’re super busy right now, but I hurt my arm, and need the burn cream.”

General Manager: “She doesn’t have time for that! Here…” *he thrusts two plates into my hands* “…take these to table 27!”

(Shocked, I take the food to the table, and continue working. I ended up with three blisters, each the size of a quarter, and I still have the scar!)