I had an interesting day at work. First, it was boring. No tables. I sat around shooting the shit with the other servers and pizza delivery drivers. While talking to one of the delivery drivers I noticed that he had a new mass of bandages on his left hand, making it look like a big, white, boxing glove.
"Where the hell did you get that?"

"Oh. I burned it."

"Oh." I thought maybe he'd spilled scalding hot cheese on his hand.

No. He elaborated. He'd been in his car, driving around at four in the morning, smoking a cigarette when one of the ashes fell into the center console. Normally this is mostly harmless, but becomes dangerous when your center console is full of gunpowder and magnesium from dismantled fireworks.

"!!?" I said.

As if he felt having the stuff in the car and lighting it on fire in the first place wasn't stupid enough, he scooped his bare hand into the burning, glowing mixture to try and throw it out the window, winning him an all expense-paid trip to the hospital.

I figured he already felt stupid enough without me pointing it out to him. So I didn't.
Then, finally, the customers began to appear. We had planned on having a party of 30, reserved a few days in advance, out on the deck. No problem. Only three servers. One of them can handle that and the other two can keep the dining room in check. Then a party of 25 calls in, one-half hour in advance and now two of the other servers are occupied, leaving me everyone else who comes in to handle by myself.

But running around like a hamster pumped full of cocaine didn't stop me from observing the odd events that took place there. One of the cooks had made a cheeseburger for the bartender's customers, and forgotten the cheese. The general manager pointed this out to him and he laid a slice of American cheese on the patty. The manager grumbled that the cheese should be melted and the cook protested that it was melted. So they argued about it for about two minutes, both of them smiling around the corners of their mouths, before the manager peeled the slice of cheese from the bun and adorned the cook's shirt with it.
"You call that melted!? See! It's not melted! Melt the cheese! I'll help you."

The cook and the manager set out to put another slice of cheese on the burger but found that it had vanished while they were arguing.

One of the other servers informed them that the dishwasher had run off with the burger while they were arguing, and smothered it in jalapenos. When she asked the dishwasher why he took the burger. He said, "It's mine." Meanwhile the bartender began asking about the burger and the manager ran around flapping his arms freaking out on everyone involved in the burger incident, trying, unsuccessfully, not to laugh.
This was somewhat similar to the situation last week when a woman at one of my tables ordered a broiled chicken breast and they made a plate of fried chicken for her. So they remade it, and she spent ten minutes watching her family eat while waiting for it, only for me to go into the kitchen and have the cook tell me he didn't know where it was.

"What? What do you mean you don't know where it is?! Didn't you make it?"

"Yeah, but Luke came in here and took it. I thought he was taking it for you?"

"What!? Luke? The bartender Luke?"

"Yeah. Him."

I went into the bar and there he was mowing the chicken down with his evil teeth, and I had to explain to the woman.

"Uh. Sorry. They made your chicken right this time but the bartender is eating it now. I see your family is done..would you like to wait another twenty minutes so your husband can watch you eat while trying to keep your restless children in check or shall I deny you the chicken and simply subtract that from your bill my good madam?"

She didn't take very kindly to the fact that I was snickering as I said this, but I couldn't help it.

Working in a privately-owned restaurant gives you a very unprofessional feeling sometimes...but it's fun.