Seedling 7: On the floor...out of my mind?
November was by no means a warm month, but by London standards, this was a good day. There was the faintest hint of sun lighting up the cloud cover into brilliant white satin, and I dragged the cheap plastic chair square into the brightest rays as if doing so could lead to a golden tan. There were fewer tourists crossing Waterloo Bridge, these days. Each day closer to winter the numbers dropped, and I can’t say I minded. Mostly it was people in business attire, rushing along at breakneck speed, perhaps hoping they’d made the right choice walking and would beat the buses shuttling from Waterloo Station to the Strand and Holborn; some small vindication. I had my own mission, which was to sit out here on the “deck” of Sandown House and try to lower my ever-rising frustration level with Seedling. The kids practicing Parkour off the old granite pediments, the pigeons pecking at pavement, the cyclists cursing the mopeds, the mopeds cursing the Black Cabs, and the wind running through the trees peeking up and over from Embankment – they all did their part in distracting my mind.
I was mentally and physically exhausted. Seedling was to blame, yes. But also the flat.
I’d done my double, yesterday and came back for my second, today. But Mike had given me a list of brokered Napa wines for my input and that meant staying up late, last night and going through the offering; translating the currency difference and the duty paid or unpaid. Of course, I hadn’t seen some of these wines in a while and didn’t know for certain what their value would be on the London market, either. And, I didn’t want to make a mistake in my estimations. Not with Mike.
While I was sitting there in bed, drinking some cheap Beira from a coffee mug and going over the inventory sheets, the music clicked on at Crackey Mc Flatmate’s, down the hall. Which meant, we were in for at least forty-eight hours of bad house music and non-stop bell ringing. I really couldn’t understand how the other flatmate had put up with this for so long. He was sixty-seven years old and never left the building. Though, truthfully, he was nearly as loud as Crackey, cackling away into his mobile’s headset all day long with some “home business” that involved a veggie steamer and a pyramid scheme that I couldn’t make heads or tails of - but heard A LOT about. Even with doors closed and thirty feet between us and I could still hear him talking about new member “signing bonuses” and “extreme vitamin retention” provided by his devices.
But tonight I had my door open, as it’s the only way I can get reasonable wifi in my bedroom. I’d only gotten to “C” and “Corison” on the import sheet when the two met in the hallway and began their inane babbling. The old man was commenting on Crackey’s attire – meaning, lack of – and how his creatine might be working but was destroying his electrolytes, or something. I dunno. Something like that. Crackey told him he was having a ‘few friends’ over and the old dude replied that he didn’t mind, but added bluntly – “no prostitutes, this time”. Crackey protested a bit, claiming ignorance and then adding he only invited hustlers to some of his private parties, off-site. This placated the old man to some degree, but he decided to appeal to Crackey’s sense of decency.
“I’m just particularly sensitive to it, because, as I’ve told you, I was a geisha in a past life”.
This is when I put down the inventory sheets and took up a pen: “The Geisha and the Crackhead: a parable”. It was going to be in the style of Rudyard Kipling, I’d already decided, and certainly one of the main characters would be devoured by a crocodile.
So, you can understand why, today, I was skipping staff meal and taking a full break on this double. I needed some ‘alone time’. Eschewing the scraps-strewn staff food gave me nearly an hour, minus the time it took me to climb out of the elf suit and then back into it. That was four minutes off and six minutes on, as I’d timed it. So, engaging in this demoralising act was about ten in total. I set a snoozing alarm on my mobile and laid my head back for a few minutes. This was technically my last training shift, although, really, with Kamil on holiday I’d mainly been working - at least, when Mike was on the floor. He’d had me run one side of the room for the three days he was rota’d to be on his own. Mike would talk me through some wines and time-saving techniques, but mostly left me on my own. It was chill enough.
Just then my phone buzzed. I pulled it out of my coat pocket and saw I’d received a text from our rota software. “Rota Updates are now available for week November...”
It was this week, which meant there had to be some last minute changes. I opened the app and scrolled up and down looking for the change. Then I saw it was for tonight. Mike had removed himself, and One Direction had been added. Which meant, it was just me and 1D?
*
“I’m not gonna stay for tonight. Cosmo is coming in to cover”.
I’d decided to feign nonchalance, though I was somewhat freaking out just below the surface.
“You’ve got this. Me, I am going to a Schloss-Gobelsburg dinner at The Ledbury. Yah, mate!”
I wasn’t sure if I’d ever seen Mike this excited. Whatever this magic combination of Goobelsburg and Ledbury was, I had no idea; but it must’ve been good. Obviously it was tempting enough that he’d decided to roll the dice on the newbie running point.
“OK, so Paul, covers tonight: you guys are at ninety-two and there’s only one real push at eight-fifteen. Have Cosmo take the pillars, just for appearances. I know it’s the busier section and he’s a Junior Somm, but he’s sensitive”. Mike grinned. “Keep eyes on him from the windows, right?”
I nodded.
“This is as we discussed. You need to take control of this floor. This is called stepping up and you can’t hesitate on anything, tonight”.
“Right. I have this, not a problem”. (I knew that was what I was supposed to say).
Some of the staff started filtering in from their last, pre-shift cigarette break, Erich included.
“There he is! Man of the Hour, Paul the somm extraordinaire!”
It could come off as sardonic, but in reality, Erich vacillated between chumminess and derision when it came to me. This time, it was chummy. He pulled on his apron, a full-body size number that ran from his knees to up and over his chest, tying behind the neck. This butcher-style was all the rage in London at the time, but all I saw was Leatherface dragging bloodied, screaming girls into a hidden abbatoire. It suited Erich’s Aryan looks and his tall figure – and his brutish management style. Man, did Erich love being ‘the boss’. I needn’t wonder how much he secretly relished outranking me....
Omar entered from the pass and my heart jumped for a minute, imagining I had to do this shift with him riding me the whole time. But then I noticed he was in his street clothes.
“Mike, Imma gonna grab some coffee at Pret, so just meet me, there, when you’re changed”. Omar started to head out before suddenly turning and walking up to me.
“This is it, buddy. First night senior on the floor. You take control, do you hear me? You have to run this and you have to stay ahead of it. This is it.”
I didn’t know quite how to react. I didn’t know if this was for real or a bit of a show for his buddy Mike. I put on my best poker face.
“Absolutely. No worries”.
Omar gave me a pat on the shoulder, then waved to the front of house, gathering for the evening briefing. Some mumbled “bye” or “have a good night”, but that was about as much as Omar could summon from a staff that didn’t exactly love the guy.
Mike made his way downstairs as Hannah skipped into the room with a pile of menu notes and photos of cheese rounds.
“Briefing! Briefing, everybody! Marty, briefing! Marcos, briefing! Vassily, where is your apron? Guys, how many times do I have to tell you ‘aprons on for briefing’?! Paul, the big night, eh?! Cosmo’s on his way up, I just saw him clocking in, so don’t worry”.
Right, of course. No reason to worry, whatsoever. I mean, with a well-oiled machine like Seedling, there was clearly no reason to worry, whatsoever.
HOME next SEEDLING 8: ‘YOU HAVE NO IDEA’