“Ya,” Jimmy G said. He sat down on the bench in front of their lockers and yawned.
Bill had walked with him to the locker room. It was almost time to start setting up for the night service in The Falstaff Room. He could see that Jimmy G was tired, and he would have said something if they’d known each other longer. It was too soon to start anything like offering to do the set up by himself so Jimmy could take a nap. As it was, and as he was about to find out, Jimmy had collected two hours’ pay without being there. Bill was also about to find out that the chef didn’t care all that much so long as his banquet chef didn’t abuse the privilege of taking care of his family. A few extra hours on the payroll here and there didn’t mean very much and was relatively insignificant when put up against the smooth running of a big kitchen operation.
The Sheraton On the Square had a big food operation. It didn’t seem like much if you looked at the one dinner dining room. That, The Falstaff Room, did only about a hundred covers a night on average, though they were doing close to two hundred since that ad had come out. But then there was room service, and it was a big hotel so that was substantial. Room service was open from early early morning until late late night. It had its own kitchen staff that Bill had not yet met. Room service also took care of breakfast and lunch which were served in one of the banquet dining rooms, a small dining room on the first floor of the hotel near to where the room service kitchen outlet was.
“Let me rest a minute,” Jimmy G said.
“Sure,” Bill said. “I’ll get us a cart and start loading things, slow and easy.”
“Ya,” Jimmy G. said again.
Bill did not need to change, not really. His uniform was clean enough to work in for the dinner service, clean enough for customers who wanted to come up to the open hearth to see him work to not notice anything.
Customers sometimes did that. Not often, but sometimes. It had happened at Suburban West and so far it had happened here at The Falstaff Room once. A family had put in an order, Rosie’s table, and they had two small kids who wanted to see the cooks work. So Rosie had led them up, holding their hands, to the waitress side of the open serving window, which was a big, long rectangle. She’d stayed with the kids a moment, Bill had spoken to them, and then the father had come up.
The father and his kids stood a moment watching. Then Bill asked him what their order was, and when the father told him, he told the father he had just put it on the grill and if he wanted to hold his kids up in his arms, he could show them the food that would be served to them.
Two hamburgers and two steaks, that was the order. One at a time the father held the kids up high enough so they could see into the broiler. Bill slid the drawer open for them and pointed with his tongs to their food.
The father was thankful and pleased. At the last minute, Bill picked up a basket of fries that was working and shook them free of oil. He plated a small order of fries on a side plate and slid the plate on the server shelf toward the father.
“For the kids,” he said. “They’re hot, so let them cool a minute.”
The father thanked Bill and led his kids away. Later, Rosie thanked Bill too. Apparently she’d gotten a great tip.
Although he didn’t have to change, so as not to get too far ahead of Jimmy G, Bill made a stop by the laundry. Millie had an ironing board out and was ironing a tuxedo.
