Love in a Nutshell - Janet Evanovich [7]
“Hot!” called one of the line cooks as he dropped a dirty skillet onto the end of the prep area.
“Thanks,” she replied from her side of the counter, but he had already hustled back to his station.
Every inch of the white tile–walled kitchen had been designed for food production, and the staff worked it to the max. Elbow-to-elbow, the three line cooks held their territories in front of the stove, grill, and fryer. Servers darted in to pick up orders, the barback hauled glassware, and pretty much everyone brought Kate more work. Her job was to clear the food debris and paper trash from the gray plastic bus tubs delivered to her. Then she had to rack all the dirty ware, send it into Hobart, and circulate the clean stuff back out for use.
“You’ve never done this before, have you?” a male voice asked.
She glanced up from her duties to see Steve, one of the servers, watching her. Tall and slender, with a dark tan and blond highlights in his hair, he looked like a surfer dude.
“Nope,” she said.
“Definite bummer, but you’re gonna have to speed up. We’re almost eighty-six on forks.”
“Eighty-six?”
“Out of.”
“Gotcha,” Kate said, moving a silverware rack into the cleaning line.
Jerry, who was currently MIA, had demonstrated the job to her well enough. In fact, it had seemed easy before crunch time came. But Jerry must have left something out of his instructions, because this just wasn’t working out the way it should. In the battle of woman versus machine, the machine was kicking her butt.
“Do you have any tips on how I can go faster?” she asked Steve.
Steve’s mouth widened into a goofy smile. “Nothing much I can say right now.”
Something was up. Something no one had shared with her. Not that she could do much about it, other than feed more dishes through Hobart. Without thinking, she used her arm to wipe sweat from her forehead, forgetting that hot sauce and ketchup were smeared on that particular arm.
“Careful, there. You don’t want it to end up in your eyes,” Laila, the most senior of Depot Brewing’s servers, said as she made room for another tub of dishes. The silver-haired woman pulled a clean napkin from her server’s apron, and handed it to Kate.
Kate wiped her forehead. “Thanks.”
“I’ve been in this business a lot of years,” Laila said. “Worked most everyplace in town, too.”
Kate nodded. She’d seen Laila’s plump and smiling face in an old staff photo behind the bar at Bagger’s, right next to Harley Bagger’s vintage collection.
Laila adjusted her apron and patted Kate on the shoulder. “Over the years, I’ve collected some nuggets of wisdom, and I’d like to share three with you.”
Kate brightened, despite the fact she probably still looked like an accident victim. “Really? What?”
“First, don’t go anywhere with empty hands. There’s always something that needs tending.”
“Okay.”
“Second, comfortable shoes are a must.”
Kate looked down at her food-speckled, white leather sneakers. “Got that covered. What’s the third?”
Laila grinned. “How about we let you stew on that until you get caught up?”
Yup, Kate smelled something, and it wasn’t just the hot sauce she’d been wearing. The scent was that of a rookie dishwasher being roasted. But she could appreciate a little gamesmanship as much as the next girl. And when inspired, she could engage in some, too.
* * *
THE CLOCK on the wall opposite Kate inched its way to three P.M., one hour before her quitting time. The kitchen’s rhythm had slowed from its earlier frantic beat to a busy yet congenial hum. The line cooks cracked jokes and laughed with one another. The servers took brief breaks, chugging soft drinks and counting their tip money. And Kate finally caught up.
“Awesome job! I can see the counter,” Steve said as he approached with a heavy load of dirty dishes.
“But not for long,” Kate replied. “Where was this stuff hiding?”
“Hiding?” He set down the bus tub. “Dude, it wasn’t hiding.