Kindness Is Greek To Me
I work in a family-owned Greek restaurant. I’m not quite sixteen and this is my first job. After a few months of work, I can generally handle most tasks, such as filling drinks, making salads, and taking phone orders.
It’s been a stressful shift so far. My boss — an old Greek lady — is micromanaging everything she can. I already struggle with anxiety, especially when taking phone calls, but it got so bad that I was on the verge of tears at one point.
The phone rings while I’m trying to fill drinks, so I have to stop and rush over to fix it.
Me: “Hi, this is [Restaurant]. How can I help you?”
Caller: “Hi, I’d like to place a to-go order.”
Me: “Absolutely, what can I get you?”
Caller: “I’d like a Greek salad with extra sauce and pita bread. Do you guys still have anchovies?”
Me: “No, sir, I’m sorry. Anything else for you today?”
Caller: “Um, how about some spaghetti with meat sauce? Oh, and an extra toast. With lots of butter and seasoning on that.”
Me: “Absolutely, sir. Will that be all today?”
Caller: “Yes, it will. Y’know, I have no idea how people like you put up with us idiots and still manage to be so cheerful. It’s a blessing.”
I’m speechless.
Caller: “Thank you so much. It’s so nice to hear a happy voice.”
Me: “No, thank you, sir. Can I get your name and phone number, please?”
The caller gives me both.
Me: “This is [Restaurant], next to [Store], and your order will be ready in ten minutes. Thank you!”
I had a smile on my face for the rest of my shift.