The girl I'm stuck closing with on Sunday nights is about as smart as a tree branch. Don't get me wrong, she's nice. I want to like her, as she's a friend of my former roommate and I don't like being at odds with coworkers. But the next time I hear "Now what?" come out of her mouth, I just might scream.
See, she's not someone who can see things need to be done and do them. When we were closing on Sunday, we got killed at the end of the night. Right after cut, tables started flowing it. At first it was nothing I couldn't handle--even having two on the north side of the restaurant, two on the south size, and one on the patio plus no expo and a manager who's a bit slow to catch on when we need help. Even Brainless was doing fine and basically staying out of my way.
Then the lobby filled up with a team of softball players and their parents. Brainless couldn't handle it, so of course it fell to me--and I fucking hate big tables. But I dove in without complaint. They weren't even that difficult--they were surprisingly low-maintenance, and didn't even want a billion separate checks. But even the most low-maintenance table of 30 is going to monopolize your time, so Brainless had to take the other smaller tables that came in. One of them sat for five minutes before being greeted, so I greeted them; then it took another ten minutes for her to get them teas. She just doesn't understand how to prioritize, and won't ask for help (by then the manager had caught on!).
At 11:20 (we close at 11), I still had two tables. There were about twelve dirty tables in the place, five of them being mine. Brainless was sitting at the staff table eating. And I don't mean having a few bites then going back to work. She was sitting, and sitting, and sitting. When my tables finally left, she finally got up and started clearing dishes. After we got that done she just looked at me and said "now what?" I said the tables all needed to be wiped and reset and the floor needed to be free of big stuff so that the morning people could vacuum without having to pick up chunks of broccoli, etc.
So she wipes and resets the tables and then says "now what?" I repeat the floor thing. Right about then the manager wanders out, so she asks him how clean the floors need to be. I went in the back and left her to it, I was so annoyed.
Eventually she came back to the kitchen and asked .... "now what?" Now at this point, there was a tea urn draining, dressings still on ice on the counter, lemons to empty, coffee turning to sludge, stuff all over the counters, etc. So I tell her that everything needs to be away and wiped down, and she asks what I want her to do.
I told her to put away the rest of the dressings; then I get "Now what?" Empty the coffee. "Now what?" Wipe down the coffee and tea machines. "Now what?" Empty the straw wrapper trash bin. "Now what?" Dump out the lemons. "Now what?" Wipe down the counters. "Now what?" Take the spouts off the soda machine. "Now what? Now what? Now what?"
Then yesterday I got stuck with the salad cooler sidework with her. I still had a table, so she started making the list of what we needed to prep. When I glanced at the list, I could tell right away it was wrong. She didn't have French or southewestern dressing on the list, and there was none in the cooler or on the line. She didn't have enough salsas or ranch listed; she didn't have the right amounts of cheese. So I had to re-do that.
When she brought jugs out of the walk-in, they all had maybe an inch of dressing in the bottom. She spent ages shaking the containers trying to get the last little bits out in an attempt to not have to open another gallon--even though she needed, for example, two more French after that. After bringing out more jugs, she filled up a couple containers of ranch, french, and southwestern, and carried the gallon jugs back to the fridge, leaving several more containers empty. Same thing with one of the cheeses.
When pouring ranch, she spilled a bunch down the side of the container, and then slid the container across the counter, leaving a big smear of ranch. She didn't wipe the bigger jugs off before putting them in the fridge; she didn't wipe the outside of the small ones. She poured half a bag of salsa across the counter and tried to leave it there; after I told her to clean it up, she left salsa dripping down the edge of the counter. Instead of putting an empty ranch jug in the trash neatly, she tried to throw it, and it bounced and splattered ranch everywhere. When it was all said and done, she tried to leave a huge mess for the prep cooks to clean up.
I'm trying to be patient; but I'm dreading Sunday night.