Every job has a Lawrence. That one lazy employee that always seems to get away with murder. Never helping out with sidework, constantly taking long smoke breaks, and never looking after his section. With many jobs your paychecks are determined by the amount of hours you worked that week. Not in the jungle of the restaurant business where the servers are slaved at a measley rate of $2.83/hour. Where the amount of money you will truly make is determined by not just yourself, but the cooks, the dishwasher, food runners, hosts/hostsesses, bussers, bartenders and baristas . This means more than ever that teamwork is of upmost importance in this industry, especially for servers who’s whole paycheck depends on everyone else doing their job right. Needless to say, one bad apple… one Lawrence employed at any restaurant establishment can have the power to unleash a world of chaos amongst an unsuspecting restaurant in downtown philadelphia. The restaurant I used to work at.
The night before “Hurricane Lawrence” I found myself at the local bar just three blocks from my job. Another employee and I had just finished working a double and were in desperate need of alcoholic beverages. After quickly clocking out of work we rushed to get as far away from the wretched place as possible. We soon found ourselves walking into “The Locust Bar” where the bartender quickly recognized us as we sluggishly strolled in. Paul walked over and said, “The usual?” We gave him a reassurring nod and proceeded to the barstools. After filling a large pitcher of yuengling he grabbed two chilled mugs and slapped our mystical healing devices down in front of us. Our water, our gatorade, our safe haven.
We had made a decent amount of money that shift. Over two hundred dollars each. But no, we weren’t happy. We didn’t care much about the money due to the agony, the stress, the frustrations we’ve endured that day. Lawrence steadily complaining about feeling ill, the rest of us servers running all the food and drinks to his tables, then eventually him complaining about wanting to go home. Ofcourse I snapped and told him to get the hell out of he’s going to continue to keep bitching. My manager had a talk with me and simply told me “Derek, I’ll handle it.” That’s the second time I’ve heard that phrase fly out his mouth. Empty promises and empty shot glasses of jameson. We drank pitcher after pitcher as we mocked lazy employees and the incompetent managers at our job. And then we took shots. Shots on shots on shots until will forgot everything.
I don’t remember how I got home that night, but the next morning I surely felt all of the effects from the multiple shots of Jamesons I valiantly consumed. A drink for a hero. Now I awaken with the sun shooting through my thin curtains as I curse my blazing headache. A morning I find that I am far too familiar with as I notice I am still wearing my work clothes from the night before. The clock read 10:30 am, which let me know I had an hour and a half before I had to be back in that hell hole. With the pulsing in my head showing no signs of fatique I am instantly aware that today will be a long day… today will certainly challenge me… today just might defeat me.
I rush getting ready for hope work in hopes of arriving early enough to relax and have the cooks prepare me something nice to eat before my shift. I walked to broad street to catch the subway down to market street. I am still hungover as I fight myself to stay awake on the lonely subway. I couldn’t muster enough energy to iron my work shirt and pants so here I am; alcohol still stuck to my breath after brushing my teeth, in desperate need of a power nap, wrinkled clothing… a mess. Typical subway patron traveling alone on the broad street line.
Of course I would pick the subway cart that would be the new home to the largest, smelliest homeless sack of potatoes in the City of Philadelphia. Just as I was getting comfortable on the vacantly quiet subway cart here comes this guy…
“Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum! I smell the blood of a mentally unstable psychopath struggling to make it to work. Let’s make his day worse. Early.”
As if the subway cart wasn’t empty enough he chooses to pick his throne two seats away from mine. Two broken passangers smack dab in the center of a vacant subway cart suddenly filling with horrible stenches as if a skunk vomited on every single seat. The smell begin making me lightheaded and; therefore, quickly bolted off at the next stop and waited for the next subway to arrive. I felt that only people wearing hazmat suits could’ve survived riding on that subway cart without passing out from the fumes.
The infested air on the subway platform supplied a sense of relief and refreshment in comparison to the wretched odor that filled the subway cart I previously occupied. My time on the platform was brief as the express train towards my job arrived in seconds. Perhaps the only positive of my soon to be long day.
I finally arrived at work around 11:20 am leaving me more than enough time to enjoy a quick brunch and collect myself before the lengthy Saturday lunch rush. A plus to working there was that employees could endulge in as much coffee as they needed for free. I definitely needed every sip I could get my hands on as I walked through the front doors of the restaurant looking like the walking dead. Straight zombie apocalypse mode. All I needed that day was a little peace and quiet for only a moment, just that calm before the inevitable storm that would ravash through the restaurant that day.
But no, not today. Arriving to work forty minutes early turned out to be not early enough as the storm we all refer to as “Hurricane Lawrence” was already underway. Chaos was visible through every square inch of the restaurant. The compacity limit of the restaurant was already matched and broken as there was little to no room to squeeze between employees and guests to make it to the heart of the restaurant, the kitchen. Servers could be seen running all over the floor with trays full of glasses and arms filled with plates as they dived and weeved through the various guests and employees running amuck in this chaotic jungle.
My general manager, Scott, was on the line helping the cooks out when he spotted my corpse like body tredging in through the crowds. His eyes shot open as he quickly made a “B” line towards me and says, “So, I’m guessing you still don’t know how to check your messages…”
“A ‘B’ line refers to the direction in which a bee flies after gathering nectar. Bees use the sun to navigate their way around and when they are ready to return to the hive they fly in a straight line back. This is why when someone is trying to get to their destination quickly they are said to be “making a B line”.” – Urban dictionary
Scott has a habit of always picking the worst things to say at the times I’m feeling like complete and utter shit. I lied and said, “Scott, you know my phone is messed up from when I forgot my umbrella in the rain. I can’t check my messages until I receive a new phone.”
I could sense my socially awkward manager getting flustered as he says, “Well, that’s beside the point. You need to clock in early because Andrew called out and we have an unexpected theatre rush coming in now.”
I need to do what…?! But I’m thirsty. Hungry. Hungover. Tired. Early. Dead…
Up intil that point I debated on what I would have the cooks hook up for me. It came down to either the Turkey and Avocado Tartine or the Curried Chicked Salad Tartine. Two of my favorite open-faced sandwiches on the menu. Yes I worked at a French place called, “Le Pain Quotidien” and the food was amazing. But now, on that there day, I was deprived of my morning long dream of peacefully feasting before my shift while breaking away from being hungover. This day was shaping up to truly test my limits before I can longer hold the anger building up inside of me. I could have argued and debated with Scott, but I knew my employees truly did need me at that moment, as well as the guests, and my wallet…
I quickly clocked in and started greeting tables all over the floor. We were down a server with a full restaraunt so I knew every server was in need of help. Lawrence was the first one to come frantically running towards me, “Derek I just got double sat. Is there anyway you can grab the two of those tables. I’m stressed the fuck out! I can’t deal anymore!” Typical Lawrence plea.
“Don’t worry about it”, I said. “I’ll take care of them.”
“Oh thank you, thank you Derek! You’re a life saver!” Lawrence replied.
Really? A live saver? A few days ago he needed a quarter to run across the street to the Seven Eleven to get a coke. The French restaurant specialized in all organic products and therefore had no soft drinks to sell. After purchasing his coke and running back to the restaurant that day he says, “Thank you so much for the quarter. I could have died without this coke. You are a true life saver Derek!” I’m getting really tired of that line. I wonder if my kind gesture of giving him that quarter really did save his life. Damn it…
Needless to say the lunch shift was one of the worst shifts I had ever worked at the establishment. The cooks were in shambles. Typical orders that would normally run only 10-15 minutes were now taking 30-40 minutes to be properly prepared. The guests were verbally expressing their opinions with words not suitable for children mixed into their dialog, and the theatre show that has brought the restaurant so much attention that day was “Elf” meaning our restaurant had an abundance of children.
A surplus of cheerios, chocolate milk and loud crying littered the floor during that extremely long shift. We practically got used to the mess knwoing there was nothing any of us could do about it at that moment. The managers were hustling in the kitchen to get the food out. The servers, minus Lawrence, were scrambling around the floor like chickens with their heads cut off. Having to deal with our larger sections during the busiest lunch of the season being down a man while balancing time with tending to the tables in Lawrence’s section when he was M.I.A. proved to be one of the most difficult tasks thrust upon humanity.
“Hey! You! Waiter! I need more water, my soup is too cold, this isn’t what I ordered…” And the question of the day, “Where is our server, Lawrence?!”
Eventually Lawrence managed to sneak his way back onto floor. He is extremely pale skinned with black hair. He stands at about 5’11, but weighs less than 140. A skeleton covered in tattoos and piercings who now, as usual, wreaked of cigarettes. I smoked cigarettes during the shifts just like every other employee. This is one of the only places I have worked that actually allows smoke breaks. The only rule was that you could not go out between the hours of Eleven and Two for obvious reasons. Our lunch rushes, especially on the weekends, required all hands on deck. WIth a man down Lawrence felt the need to step out back for not a three, four, or five but ten minute long smoke break during the forbidden hours of the day. I fought long and hard with myself to refrain from snapping on him right then and there.
“Did you really just take a ten minute break in the middle of the rush?” I asked.
As he responded I turned my head to the left a little to lessen the contact of his foul smelling breath and rotting teeth,”Dude, you have no idea how the morning was. Andrew called out and I was by myself until…”
I cut him off. Every word out of his mouth angers me.
“Whatever yo. Listen. You just got sat at table 28 and table 40. I rung both of their drinks in under your name. You should make those drinks first before doing anything else.”
Lawrence looked at me with a dumbfounded expression on his face, “Ugh… why didn’t you make them?”
BIIIIIIIITTTCCCCHHHHHHH
I could not believe the message sent from my ears to my brain. While us servers are losing money on the tips we would have gotten on our tables because we were helping to make him money on his tables and keep the flow of the restaurant moving he dares to question my actions. Red began to fill my vision as I was fulfledged on ripping him a new one right in the middle of the dining area. The assistant manager saw the dark look plastered on my face and immediately rushed over. “Lawrence you know better than to sneak out during the lunch rush. Scott already knows and will have a talk with you about it later. Now tend to your tables.”
The three of us then broke apart and got back to our duties on the floor. I went over to the espesso machine to make my table their two cappuccinos, when I was approached by Scott as he says, “Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” Really? I believe the only words I can use to describe this man are ‘socially awkward’. His actions and personality completely mirror the character Michael Scott from the show “The Office.” I actually made the mistake of calling him Michael one day. Luckily he was too preoccupied with inventory to hear me. Every word that comes out of this Michael Scott impersonator fills me with more and more rage.
I wanted to tell him that he was in fact right and I did indeed awaken on the wrong side of the bed and today was not the day to test my limits. That I am extremely hungover still and that my hatred for Lawrence was reaching an all time high. The angels above found themselves now fearing for Larence’s health and well-being fore they knew the lid to my stress level was ready to spontaneously combust.
After coming to scott twice in the past about the laziness of said employee and no actions taken I have been angrily voicing my opinions about the matter. I felt that I should bring it up one more time to Scott to see if he’ll actually take actions and repremand Lawrence once and for all.
“Scott! You seriously need to send him home. This restaurant is literally going under because you don’t have the balls to fire an employee! You tell me you’re going to handle the situation, but have shown no results thus far!”
I was heated. I knew the next sentence out of my mouth would be littered with curse words, so I grabbed my cappuccinos and proceded back into the chaotic jungle of our restaurant. It took every ounce of strength I had to fight off the demon ready to be unleashed inside of me. Working your ass off each and every single shift and being criticized more often than the Lawrence as he slyly sneaks around the restaurant like fox in full stealth mode. We often call him “The Cat” referencing the nine lives he has when it comes to getting fired. He has about seven ‘Write-Ups’ when normally employees get fired after about three. Scott remained by the espresso machines for a few more seconds before drifting back into the kitchen.
As the lunch rush nears it’s end the pace of the restaurant has surely slowed down. There’s still work to be done as the restaurant looks as if a “Thomas the Tank Engine” parade had just came crashing through the dining area. Remnants from the battle could be seen all over the floor as paper airplanes littered the floor, random action figures left behind hid under vacant tables, wet floor signs scattered throughout and a single pack of forgotten pull-up diapers resting in the middle of the communal table. I don’t believe there were enough diapers in the world that day to maintain the sudden shit storm that shattered our morale.
Me, being the closing server, makes me responsible for handing out side-work to the other servers to be completed before leaving. The restaurant was in shambles so we all continued to keep up the pace as the flow slowed down. Everyone could be seen scrubbing tables and sweeping the dining area. That is everyone except Lawrence, who saw the first signs of slowing down as his chance to escape out the back door for another smoke. I did my best to hold my breath and continued to work through the end of the lunch rush. Sweat was now clearly visible seeping through the cloth of our uniform shirts. Even the lady servers were beginning to become drenched in their own sweat as they hustled to make the floor look presentable for the dinner rush. The madness was finally coming to an end… or so I thought…
Lawrence came back onto the floor as he was sat with with a group of three attractive college girls outside on the patio. He immediately begins to huff and puff, “AH! Can I just be cut already! I really don’t want to take anymore tables.” As angry as I was with his statement I knew that him being cut and sent home would be best considering the state I was in. The vicious thoughts never seized ping ponging themselves throughout my head as I angrily stated, “You know what Lawrence? You’re cut. I’ll take the table outside. Just start your damn sidework and cash the fuck out!” I stormed off to greet the table outside without waiting for a response from him. I sensed that my anger was drastically rising with every second spent near him. Argghhh!!!!
Lawrence proceeded to lazily sweep up the floor and haphazardly polished the silverware. His final task was to make sure that all empty tables had been wiped down. There are three sanitizer buckets in our establishment filled with rags for cleaning the tables off with. Two were located inside at opposite of the dining area and the third was outside on the patio strategically located right next to the table with the three college girls I picked up from Lawrence. They were halfway through their meals when I began making small talk with them. I notice a bunch of designer shopping bags unders their table and asked,”So what did you ladies get me for my birthday?” They all laughed as one girl reached in her purse and pulled out a ring pop,”For you, my lord” she says as she places the ring pop in my hand. “Why thank you, my lady” I reply. We all share another well needed laugh on this tense. “Finally”, I say to myself, the light at the end of the tunnel… That’s when the unthinkable happened.
Lawrence had finished wiping all of the tables down inside the restaurant and is now to tackle the outside tables. He strolls outside and attempts to toss the rag inside the sanitizer bucket, which sits on a four foot tall stand. I guess he was hoping to moisten the rag, but little did he know the rag was fully weighted with wetness as it hurled into the side of the bucket completely knocking it over with the stand falling close behind. Brown colored sanitizer water seemed to rain from the heavens as the three girls and I were showered. The bulk of the water poured out on the cement underneath the table as the shopping bags, purses, and heels on these girls were now completely soaked. ‘Hurricane Lawrence’ claims three more victims.
As the sanitized water leaked out from the bucket so did the demon inside of me. My eyes completely filled with red as my ears quickly shut out the angry shrieks from the college girls. Lawrence immediately takes a step my direction and says,” Derek! Oh mh gosh!. I am so sor…” Icut him off before he could finish and shouted, “What the fuck Lawrence!” I gave him the look of the devil. The death stare. If it were possible to kill someone with just a glance he would definitely be six feet under by now. Had we both been clocked out at that moment he would be eating food through a straw for the rest of his life. The sun quickly hid behind the thick clouds in the sky as darkness flooded my eyesight.
After taking a deep breath I found myself swiftly moving through the restaurant searching for Scott. Many tables were trying their best to flag me down for help as I cruised right on past them. Their refills can wait. I knew that if Lawrence had walked back into my line of sight at that moment it would mean lights out for him and no job for me. I needed a cigarette. I needed 10 cigarettes. I needed to punch something… someone. Bad thoughts littered my mind as in that moment I could honestly say I feared for his life.
My eyes narrowed in on Scott upon noticing him in the kitchen as I quickly walked over to him. The other employees could easily see the fire burning in my eyes and knew this was a confrontation to hear. I certainly was in the worst state of mind to try to confront Scott about this issue, but I didn’t care. Action needed to be taken. Nothing could stop the fiery words ready to be shot out of my mouth at him.
Once I reached Scott I made sure not to give him a chance to talk. I opened my mouth and loudly showered Niagara Falls onto his world. I was heated. The red I was seeing instantly turned to black. All I have in memory of this outburst is the testimony of the few employees who decided to eavesdrop knowing this would be an epic encounter in Le Pain Quotidien’s history. After listening to their stories I know now that this is what went down at that moment.
“Scott! This is complete bullshit how you come at all of us Servers over the littlest shit and let Lawrence do as he pleases. He losing this company more and more money with every shift he works and now you have to go comp a whole $80.00 check because Lawrence decideds to dump a fucking bucket of sanitizer water on them! You allow him to get away with murder on a day-to-day basis while the rest of us work our asses off to make up for his slack. Either Lawrence goes or I go!”
The employees there joke and say my words still echo around the restaurant at night. I came to smoking a cigarette in the parking lot of the restaurant. I wasn’t quite sure what I had said to Scott, but I was definitely glad I said it. I needed that release. Taking shots, snorting coke and driving my fists through a brick wall were out of the question while at work. Lashing out at Scott on the other hand had rapidly lowered my stress level.
After smoking a second cigarette I finally felt sane enough to re-enter the restaurant. I sprayed myself with Axe bodyspray to rid myself of the scent of cigarettes. I walked out onto the floor to notice the table on the patio was vacant and the three college girls gone. Scott ended up comping their whole bill off as the girls left unhappily. No tip. A table that I picked up from Lawrence ends up biting me in the ass. I guess this would be a good time to tell you his other nickname, Murphy, as in Murphy’s Law because when working with Lawrence it it is important to know one thing: anything that can go wrong will go wrong.
Lawrence quickly cashed out and left, but not before being written up. I didn’t see it for myself though rumor has it he left crying that day. I don’t feel the least bit sad about it. Is that bad? Believe it or not I went on working there for another two months until my depression caught up with me again. Lawrence got fired a couple weeks after “Hurricane Lawrence” due to a disturbing table complaint. He felt the need to wear a thick, wooden nose ring during his shifts. His table asked for the manager on duty, Scott, and told him that while Lawrence was taking their order he took out his nose ring, played with it, then put it back in his nose. One of the most disgusting things a server could do in front of their guest. Especially when that server looks like Lawrence.
As fast as Lawrence knocked over that bucket of sanitized water filling me with fire, he in turn was fired by none other than Scott. I guess Michael Scott from “The Office” can pull through for his employees at times.
“Sometimes I’ll start a sentence and not know where it’s going. I just hope I find it along the way.” Wise words from none other than Michael Scott himself.
Thank you all for reading. I am sure you all have had a “Lawrence” employed at your job at one point or another. My thoughts and prayers go out for those still currently employed with these monsters.
– Derek
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