Planet Hollywood 2

Then I saw a credit card receipt blow off one of my tables and start drifting down Kalakaua Avenue. I ran after it like a crazy nut. I needed proof of a tip to collect my money so that receipt was as good as cash. And the way this night was going, I needed every penny people were willing to give me.

After I caught up with the receipt, I headed back into server hell and absolutely…shut down. My manager was now trying to sort out the mess by asking me what kind of help I needed and instead of answering her, I stood and stared. I could not form the simplest thought. That crazy night had pushed me over the edge and I was at a loss.

Minutes later, I woke up from my trance and forced myself to somehow pull it together. I can’t say that I was fully focused but enough to get through this nutty nightmare. My managers and co-workers were scrambling to fix the situation that I chose not to handle as well as deal with their own work. I felt so badly for shutting down, but the craziness had pushed me over the edge.

I usually received high praise from customers for the service I provided, but not tonight. I had more complaints that evening than I had in my serving career. Ouch. The complaints were not just from customers either. My co-workers were so pissed off at me. The cooks had to redo a few orders on my account, the bartenders had to make some new drinks on my account, the servers working with me had to take on more tables than expected and my manager was disappointed with my loss of control.

I cleaned up my work area at the end of the night without looking at anyone. I was so embarrassed for my actions and did not know how to get out of the restaurant fast enough. When my side jobs were done, I changed my clothes and headed for the door.

On the way out, I hung my head as I walked from the employee workroom to the escalator. My head was apparently so low that I did not notice the group of managers sitting at a table staring at me. I finally looked up when I heard my name and saw them motion for me to join them. Man, as if this night were not bad enough, now I had to face my superiors. I sat down with my tail between my legs but also with a sense of relief that I was not waiting tables anymore.

The managers proceeded to tell me that shutting down when things get out of control was unacceptable. And they were absolutely right. The problems I dealt with that night were bad but fixable if I would have cooperated. While overwhelmed, I did stop and stare almost refusing help. It was not because I didn’t need it, I just couldn’t collect my thoughts fast enough and I did not know where to start.

I apologized for “freaking out” and said that I would do my best to never let this happen to me and everyone else again. They were glad to hear me acknowledge my issue and own my crappy behavior. But they were not finished with me. They told me that they were going to have to write me up in the Planet Hollywood log. Seriously? What does that even mean? Am I now labeled a serving criminal? I looked at them and said, “You realize that I am not going for server of the year here. I want to do my job well but everyone has their breaking point.” They laughed at the server of the year statement but said that I would still be written up and asked that this never happen again.

I felt like such a loser. Who gets written up for imploding? So I had an off night. Was that any reason to reprimand me and make me feel worse? I walked away looking at the floor, wondering if my scrambled brain remembered how to get me home.

 Most nights I was eager to get home and relax but tonight I was moving slowly and not anxious to get anywhere. I thought about how crazy things got during my shift. First, the rain, then the confusion with my tables and don’t forget running down the street after that receipt. How did I lose control? How does a girl just shut down when everything else is screaming by her? Were the events of the evening really that bad? Then, I started to feel even worse as I thought about my location. I live in Hawaii—The land of “no worries.” People don’t have problems here. It’s too perfect.

My parents happen to be visiting at that time, so I decided to stop by their hotel for a much needed hug. I called them from the lobby and my mom asked if everything was all right. I said yes but that I just wanted to talk. She could sense something in my voice, so she and my dad got out of their pajamas and quickly met me downstairs.

We sat in rocking chairs facing the ocean and I started to cry. I explained my wild night and about being written up in the Planet Hollywood “misfit’s log of fame”. They laughed a bit but were mostly supportive to their sensitive daughter. They let me talk until I could say no more and after some deep thought, they encouraged me to find a lesson from the experience in order to help me move on. They were fully aware of my tendency to obsess about situations that I could not longer change.

I promised to do my best, took the last sip of wine from my glass and gathered my things. My mom knew from my phone call that I needed to talk and my dad knew that a late call deserved a glass of wine.

My dad walked me back to my apartment with his arm around me. It was about one in the morning by now and I was exhausted. I thanked my dad for his help, hugged him and headed upstairs.

Talking out my problems helped a bit but I knew it would take some time to get over how I reacted to this hardship. Why did I fall apart when presented with this uncomfortable situation? It was stressful that all of my tables moved inside then filled up outside again with new customers, but was it really the end of the world?

What I needed to do, was take a deep breath, clear my thoughts and allow my co-workers to assist me. They were right there waiting to help me, yet all I could do was stare aimlessly without giving anyone the chance to help straighten out my mess.

I truthfully do not remember how I got through the evening. I have no idea who helped me, how my customers managed to get their meals, drinks and tabs. It was all a blur. That was one night in my life of waiting tables and I turned it into a dramatic event that nearly sent me to a therapist.

“Get a grip,” was the last thought I had before hitting the pillow and dosing off. “Get a grip.”