With great power comes great responsibility. And so with my training as a grey shirt, I am often called upon to run entire shifts as if I were already a “black shirt” supervisor for experience. I get the keys and everyone has to respect my authoritah.
I do this a couple hundred times and being a black shirt will be easy, right?. I’ve already had a couple of experiences with less than ideal results. But I’ve learned from that. No more dryer fires from me. And Nacho-gate? Never again.
So middle shift last night was going well so far. I had two actual black shirts (Sherry and Doug) and another grey shirt (Liz) backing me up. Plus three pretty experienced entry-level “tan shirts” (Alex, Carmen and Sameed) who have all been here a while. Prep was getting done (vegetation dismemberment and animal flesh division) and I was “floating” through the restaurant, managing here and there or helping accomplish this and that. Liz asked for the keys and I gave them to her before I went on my law-granted half-hour break at 9:00. My command relinquished, I went to clock out. I come back from the timeclock to see Alex loading ice cream into the cooler for shakes. Peculiar but not a major concern considering that the Harrison Grille’s ice cream is kept in a steel-lined bunker in the back of the restaurant accessible only by the very keys I had just given Liz. Assuming that she had loaned him the keys, I went out to order and eat my employee meal. Alex has been doing this for months. I trusted him.
I come back from my break to be greeted with bad news: Doug telling me that Alex “walked off the floor” which is… bad.
Information flies at me from three different sources. It’s like Rashomon.
The story goes:
Normally Sunshiney Sherry gives order. Usually Agreeable Alex says no. Large argument ensues. Alex walks off the floor and is nowhere to be found.
I find Sherry in the office more distraught than I expected, apparently reeling from a rift in the usually cordial relationship. Then a bomb drops. Alex still has the keys. This is now a goddamn situation we have here. At this point, finding the keys makes anything Frodo ever did pale in comparison.
- Mission 1: Find the keys.
- Mission 2: Find Alex. Deal with situation.
Enter the manhunt. Or at least as much of a manhunt as you can perform while operating a restaurant. Alex was wearing an apron and a Harrison Grille polo. If he was really angry, he would have dumped the items (hopefully with keys in apron pocket) or maliciously fled with the keys. The employee changing area turned up no sign of either. Although his backpack was still here. Hmmm… in addition to being out of character for Alex, this story was full of holes.
As, I exited the office after leaving what I thought was a pretty convincing voicemail message, Doug informed me that he wasn’t in the adjoining activity room and that Sherry could not be found. As I tried to interrogate Extremely Sleep-deprived Liz, she giggled and collapsed in laughter. Which is unusual, since, although she’s often sleep-deprived, she doesn’t usually fall to her knees in giddiness. She only mentioned that Alex spoke to Sameed before the incident. Sameed only gave me a stern-faced look from across the room before I turned around and saw Alex and Sherry grinning wickedly.
Doug, Sherry, Alex and I gathered in a circle. And at that moment, everyone started smiling. I said two sentences about resolving the conflict before a “The Illusionist” moment of insight occurred to me.
Alex had been hiding in the NAR, on Doug and Sherry’s orders to simulate a real-life conflict for me to handle. He did indeed have the keys the entire time. Doug telling me he wasn’t in the NAR was only a cover to prevent me finding him.
Doug’s story was sparse, lacking specific detail. Sherry, the mastermind, had a more elaborate description. Exhausted Liz was on the floor convulsing due to my entertaining deception. Sameed, the red herring, was out of the loop completely. Alex, unable to keep a straight face, was the Godot who had to leave to keep up the illusion. I had been PUNK’d by my surprisingly well-acting superiors. (Liz notwithstanding.)
