Alter Boys (28 page)

An unruly liquored up patron in the bar?  Call Boone.  In a heartbeat the manager would introduce himself and sit down and have a drink with the customer, thanking him for his generous patronage.  Then would come the promise of ‘the next time you’re here, the first drink is on the house’ as he leads the drunk unwittingly to the coatroom.

Complaints over slow service, overcooked food, a water spot on the butter knife?  Boone, Boone and Boone.

The worst ones though were the choking’s.  The hostesses couldn’t always tell if a diner was shaking off a winter cold or if they had an under-chewed chunk of prime rib wedged in their windpipe.   But Boone didn’t take any chances.  Any episode of choking (no matter how insignificant) could have a grave impact on the business.

‘I was at the Prospector last night and this lady was eating the prime rib and started coughing and got blue in the face.  I ain’t going back to that fancy death trap.’   

It very well could have been a mild asthma episode, completely unrelated to the food or the purveyor.  But for anything more serious than a demure cough in a hankie, Boone was savvy enough to involve his presence.    

In seven years he had only had to perform the Heimlich maneuver once.  The frantic call from the hostess left no question that this one was serious:  “Choking!  Lady!  Twelve!”  He raced to table 12 and found the writhing woman nearly face down on the table.  An ashen-faced man was standing behind her, patting her on the back.  Around the room, diners gawked, some wanting to help, none knowing what to do, and most hoping that the situation would resolve itself.

“Let me.”  Boone moved himself into the spot gratefully vacated by the pale back-patter.  In a manner that was completely the opposite of the futile procedure that had been tried, Mr. Merrill reached around the woman’s midsection and yanked up – hard. 

The force lurched her halfway out of her chair.  Boone capitalized on the momentum and pulled her fully upright.  He tugged again and again at her sternum.  On the second tug the woman’s face lifted, she opened her mouth and a large chunk of
New York
strip streak popped out and landed unceremoniously in her tablemates rice pilaf. 

She vacuumed in air with three noisy, rapid and deep inhalations.  Boone did not release his grip.  He recognized that his hands were in a highly compromising position around the woman’s body.  However he knew that she wasn’t quite out of the woods yet.  He held her for another minute while her breathing steadied and her quivering abated.  Once satisfied, he began to lower her to her chair.  Unnecessarily for her; but necessarily for those watching, smoothing her dress and moving his hands to a safer territory in the process.

There was no applause, no shouts of ‘well done.’ The diners returned to their meals with a little less appetite and a little more
diligence in the practice of chewing.  Conversation gambits would be hard to come by. 

Gradually the scope of activity narrowed from the full dining room to the Heimlich couple and the few tables surrounding them. 

“I want to thank you, she was choking and I didn’t know what to do.”  The ashen man had his arm around his date.  The woman was somewhere between her recovery from asphyxiation and moving into embarrassment for having created such a scene. 

“I know you care for her very much.”  He nimbly evaded the topic.  Patting someone on the back?  That’s the worst thing you could do.  But these poor saps didn’t know that.  He turned to the woman “I see you’re doing much better now.”  She lifted her head and said, “Yes, thank you.  But I’m afraid I created quite a scene.”  Boone Merrill was already one step ahead of her.  “It could happen to anyone.  You have no reason to feel embarrassed.”  He expanded his scope to include both:  “Folks, there’s no charge for tonight.  And I would like to offer you some options.  If you’re feeling up to continuing your evening with us, I will have the staff promptly re-do your order.  Plus, I will re-seat you in our second dining room.  There we have a little L-shaped nook that can provide you with some quiet.”  Manager Merrill smiled expansively.  “Of course I certainly understand if you would like to defer to another date, and that evening too would be on the house.”

With a clever weak smile the young lady quipped:  “I should choke on my food more often.”   

Jackpot!  It was just what he was gunning for.

“Let’s stay.  And yes, the new table would be nice.  Can we stay Ted?  Please.”  Ted, formerly ashen-faced guy, sure as shit wasn’t going to argue. 

“Folks, allow me a few moments to make the arrangements, and then we will continue our evening together.”  With that Boone Merrill plucked both sets of dinnerware from the table, only for the sake of removing the offending rice-covered meat wad from sight, and headed back to the kitchen. 

6

After the call from the hostess that a young lady, a choker, had made her way under her own power to the Show Girls room, Boone Merrill sprang to action.  He didn’t like it one bit, in fact he even loathed the fact that his reputation for being a hands-on manager was self created. 

He pondered his persona as he approached the swinging door between kitchen and dining room.  Sunshine bubbles?  No.  Business as usual?  No.  Gentle concern?  Bingo.  But there was that other thing to consider, the young lady, the choker, was in the Show Girls Room.  He suspected that he would have to have the hostess perform the general welfare check while he filled in as Maitre De. 

Sakes.

It was an active night in the Prospector, a full house with a table wait of 20 minutes to be exact, so the manager’s movement through the dining room and up to the foyer went largely unnoticed.  He caught the eye of the hostess, who discretely said “chair 4” and then returned to her table coordination. 

Thank god for small favors, the restroom barrier had been solved and being back in public suggested that the choker was going to be okay.  A dash of sunshine bubbles accented the gentle concern.

The girl sitting in number 4 was lightly dabbing at her eyes and shaking off the remnants of throat tickle, but otherwise seemed intact.  She looked vaguely familiar, likely a regular, but regular
or not, she was, at this moment, the most important person in the world in Boone Merrill’s mind.

“Hello there, I’m Mr. Merrill, I’m the manager here.  Did you have a bit of a coughing spell?”  All of the adjacent seats were occupied by parties on the waiting list.  Boone had to hunker down to ease the conversation.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine.”  Flustered,
Dee
busied herself with her hankie as a deterrent to conversation.  ‘Christ, the fucking manager had to come check on me because of the demon.’  She brayed out laughter involuntarily and then hid behind her hands as several waiting-list customers began to engage their attention.  The little chat between the big man and the laughing lass had the promise of being a nice time killer.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry” Dee
Schuster
laughed once more, this time with control.  “My dad, you see, we were eating, and my dad.”  She took two quick breaths, steadied, and tried again.  “We were eating; actually I was drinking my Pepsi, and my dad said something funny and I got Pepsi up nose.”

“It happens to the best of us.”  Boone Merrill was literally beaming.  “Just be glad it wasn’t Mountain Dew, that stuff almost blew my brains out once.”  And then
Dee
did laugh, along with several of the patrons who had been following along.  Yes, when it came to ‘in front of the desk, Boone Merrill was good.  Damn good.  But no one would ever know just how savagely he hated it.

He had the girl, he had the waiting customers, why not go for the dad and score a trifecta.  “Your dad must be really funny.”  His intent was to lead up to capturing a name, what he captured was far more.

“Not really” the girl rolled her eyes.  “Okay, maybe sometimes.  But what he said wasn’t funny ha ha, it was the other kind, you know funny, uhmmm.”  “Ironic?”  Boone kindly offered.  “Yeah! 
That kind, or at least I think so.  Anyway, he was talking about a busboy.” 

Merrill’s interior darkened by waves.  His heart l
eapt into overdrive.  Endorphin
s threatened to flood his nerve centers.  By contrast, his exterior remained perfectly placid.  He cocked his head and lit a quizzical expression of amused interest.      

“Okay, lemme start over.” 
Dee
was now in the land of opportunity.  She could now include the Prospector manager in her demon story to her friends!  “Daddy was saying that he and his buddies come here after golf league and they talk about the busboy.”

His temples began to throb.  Digestive juices poured into his stomach as if he had been force fed a bottle of
Tabasco
.   Not one, but a foursome, possibly more, golf buddies, plural.  Busboy.  Problem.    

“They come here to watch him, because he flies around here like…like…
Dee
preps her hankie in anticipation.  …like a demon!” 

End of story. 

Dee
Schuster
cradles her hankie-veiled face, laughing and luxuriating in her initial sharing of the story.

The waiting customers, keep waiting, for their tables and for a more satisfying punch-line.

Boone Merrill is furious and he’s not going to wait.  He doesn’t know why the girl found that to be either of the funnies, ‘ha ha’ or ‘ironic.’  Doesn’t know and doesn’t care.  What he does know is that he has one busboy and at least one supervisor that need to have their balls busted.  Customers laughing at one of his staff members?  Like a circus sideshow freak?    

This is the Prospector.  This is image.  This is ambience. 

“Oh but this is the funny part.”  Dee
Schuster
has realized that the part of the story that made it funny ironic has been omitted.  “At school, his nickname is
also
Demon, because he dresses like a demon from… cause he dresses like a demon!” 

A few nervous titters from the waiting crowd, another uncontrollable bray from the choker.

Damage control.  Merrill needs it fast.  Golf buddies, waiting crowd, high school.  Too late.  The demon saga was already out and by this time tomorrow would be epic.  He needed to think, not spur of the moment in front of the desk thinking, but quiet, deliberate behind the desk variety.

Later.  There was still the choker.  “Well I can understand when something (he didn’t say funny, he didn’t say ironic) surprises you in the middle of a sip of soda, there’s always the risk of a little miscue.  I can tell you’re already feeling much better.  Which table are you sitting at, I’ll have the waitress bring you a fresh soda.”

“Oh that’s fine, thank you”
Dee
said rising, “before I went to the bathroom my dad said he would have the waitress bring one.”  Remembering, she quickly covered her mouth and between her fingers added:  “either the waitress or the demon.” 

Capping her mouth tightly she took leave of the foyer and returned to her crab cakes.

One thought rocked Boone Merrill.  He’s here.

7

Under normal circumstances, a full house with a waiting list, would be enough to keep the pair of busboys (one of them usually stoned) active all night long. 

When Demon was on the floor though, it only took one, and maybe part of another busboy to keep up with the demand for tables.

Demon had been shown the job, he knew the job, he had been told that he needed to work fast.  And that’s what he did.  He had no recognition of the concept of shared duties, a concept that the other busboys quickly recognized and exploited brutally. 

Some, like Jon Hemmingburg, did their fair share, but just couldn’t match (even when showing up for work totally straight) the Demon’s torrid pace. 

Schedule posting became a momentous occasion.  “You lucky prick!  You’re paired up with the demon three nights this pay period.  Bring your whack off books, you’ll be doing more jacking off than wiping off.”

Especially exploitive was the asshole first class Matt King
man
.  He took advantage of the Demon savagely.  “Tables 4 and 19 just left Demon.  I think 29 is about ready too.  I’ll keep an eye on it and let you know.”  Matt King
man
’s concept of being a busboy amounted to little more than identifying tables and urging on the demon.  “I gotta tell you, you’re doing a great job, a great job!  I don’t know how I could keep up without you.”  This while he leaned on the ledge of the work station examining the notch in his right thumbnail.