Ever since that afternoon at the coffee shop, Tyson and I have started texting each other about things other than Protect Earth At All Costs.
It’s been pleasant to have someone who isn’t in my social or work circles to talk about whatever comes to mind. Stuck in traffic somewhere, ran out of paper towels, how fast September flew by, the different brands of soda he adds vanilla extract to see if it’s better than Coke. Anything and nothing.
I’m not a very fast texter, so I prefer chatting with him while we shoot aliens. A DLC dropped this week with new maps. We’ve been conquering them together while annoying the hell out of our party members with our endless banter.
It’s the best way to unwind after work.
Tyson signs online later than he usually does one Monday afternoon. I invite him to a party, and we start our usual search for matches.
He’s barely said hello.
“You’re kind of quiet, Ty,” I say. “What’s up?”
“Sorry. I worked a lunch shift today, and I’m still pretty steamed up over it.”
“Yeah?”
I hate listening to servers and bartenders complain about work. I do it because I’m their boss and I care for them, but ninety percent of the time they were in the wrong. And I have to be the asshole to tell them so.
The kitchen staff doesn’t whine as much to me, but they tend to go to the back of house manager with their problems.
Ugh, thinking about my back of house manager hurts my head. She’s moving to Canada right before Halloween, and I need to start looking for her replacement. Not that I am going to gripe to anyone about it.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says quietly.
His dejection stings my heart. Christ. No one at work better find out about this.
“Tell me everything,” I say. “This map is long as fuck, and I’m the flag holder. I got nothing to do, and our party members don’t have mics to yell at us with. But you better protect me like a goddamn knight.”
Tyson laughs. “All right, all right. So work is pretty chill during the day, and there’s only like four servers as opposed to the eight or so we have at night.”
I’d kill to have only four servers during the day. Always have to have at least seven during both shifts. At least I can get away with one bartender during the day, versus three at night.
“Go on.”
“Well, I’m the closer, so I gotta check everyone’s sidework. And I gotta write up everyone’s sidework too.”
Ooh. Bad decision. At my place, the managers on duty assign all of that. Only the ballsy or brainless fight the managers about their tasks, and those walnuts learn pretty quickly to shut up.
“Someone calls out, so there’s just three of us, and we all gotta work a little more. You know how it goes.”
“Yeah, I do. Keep near me, would you? The minions are faster through here.”
“Sorry. Okay, so I assign their work, and I get a ten-top. While I’m preparing their beers, another server comes over, and I’m thinking he’s going to help me. Then he just stands there and tells me he’s not going to do his sidework since he wants to catch an early showing of some movie and relax before his evening shift. He’s a double and all that.”
This is normally where I start getting irritated as fuck with my staff. Tyson probably does something asinine next, and he doesn’t get the manager in time to intervene. Problems arise that could have been solved very quickly.
Also who doesn’t have a dedicated bartender during the day? Does this place only serve beer?
But I keep listening. Intently. Some part of me wants to hear every word out of his mouth.
“I tell him to fuck off, thinking he’s joking, and then I go back to taking care of my table. They’re real emotional, since some of them are moving away tomorrow, so this was the last family meal they were going to have for a while. I wanted it to be a real nice experience for them, you know? They were a good family.”
His voice breaks. I almost miss the bridge we need to cross in the game since I’m worried Tyson’s going to cry. How do you comfort someone over a thousand miles away?
“What happened next?”
He clears his throat before continuing. “The server got mad and went out for a smoke break without telling me. And we got a rush, so his section filled up and I had to take care of them and get their orders before ringing in my ten-top’s stuff. The family ended up getting their food way later than they should have, and it was such a mess. I felt so bad they had a poor experience.”
Tyson and the other two people in our party tackle a boss at the base, and I’m able to plant the flag once they beat it. The screen flashes green. I should be pleased, but something is stirring in my chest. Concern? Is that what it’s called?
“Well, what happened? Did the table not tip you? Where the hell was your manager?”
“Huh? No, they did. Real nice people, but I knew they were upset. That’s what hurts the most. My manager tried to smooth things over, but you know how it goes. The server walked out, I had to do his sidework, and the family had to spend their last meal miserable. They deserved better. I’d have taken real good care of them if that jerk had thought about someone beside himself.”
My throat tightens.
“I know you would have.”
The next game starts. We play a few more rounds and don’t chat about his day. Just keep the conversation focused on the game itself.
I could play all night with him if my damn stomach didn’t demand that food stuff.
“Hey, Ty. I need to make some dinner.”
“About that time, huh? Say, uh, I just wanted to thank you.”
His voice is low. Drawl thicker than usual. I close my eyes so I can hear Tyson better.
It’s almost like being right next to him.
“You always play with me, and I really appreciate you listening to me ramble. But I’m extra glad you listened to me earlier about my job. You didn’t have to, but you did. I really like talking to you, Phil.”
My lower teeth sink into my upper lip, and I will my heart to slow down before I utter a word. My body really needs a meal in it. It’s shaking so much.
“I like talking to you too, Ty. Good night.”