A Chip on My Shoulder

A tough day at work just got a lot better.

I’m a host at a local restaurant. I’m the guy that takes you to your seat, hopes that you enjoy yourself, and then forgets about you until you walk back by me to leave and I tell you to have a good one. Usually, I have a pretty good control over things; in fact, that’s what I’m there for: control. I control where the guests dine"that is, which table they sit at. Of course, they won’t tell me that they want somewhere specific until I’ve already taken them to opposite side of the restaurant and already laid down the menus and place-settings. So, not to look like an idiot, I quickly and quirkily reply with, “Oh, yes. I was just giving you a tour of the restaurant.” And they chuckle, sit down, and although I never see it, I’m pretty sure that they roll their eyes.

 

Now, everyone has at least one enemy, and a host’s worst enemy is a wait. W-A-I-T, wait. “Yes, sir, that’ll be ten minutes.” “Yes, ma’am, that’ll be twenty-five minutes.” Now, I’ve always been told that “every second that someone waits is a second that they think about going to another restaurant with quicker service;” so, making them wait was a cardinal sin. But there are some times when going on a wait is inevitable

 

I’ll never forget this one particular Sunday morning. Sure, it started off peacefully. I was standing at the host stand, and just a second after I greeted the first guests, a few others came in after, and I had my two trainees attend to them while I maintained the records up front. But more and more people kept trickling in, and in just thirty minutes, the restaurant was full. Then no one was getting up, which meant that no one could be sat, which meant that they had…to wait. My enemy quickly became manifest before me: “Yes, sir; that’ll be ten minutes.” The words burned my tongue like the suns of a thousand Julies, but it was a fire that I had to endure until the last person was greeted and seated. And some people wanted their favorite waitress like always, but she was busy with other tables, which meant that they had to wait…even longer.

 

This was the worst spot for me to be in. The people that were waiting kept burning holes of guilt into my soul with their stares; “How…dare…you make me wait this long for a table?” After I had shaken off the ashes of the first trial by fire, I felt something land on my shoulder. I quickly glanced, and it looked like a little fly. I swatted it off with no consequence. I then stood there, took a few more names and suffered through a few more crucibles, and the fly landed on my shoulder again. I lifted my hand to swat it away again, but then I heard a slightly raspy yet jovial voice. “Hey, man; I’m just trying to help you.” I stood at attention and then looked over the host stand, thinking that I’ve overlooked a “little” guest, but I didn’t see anyone. I resumed my business, and I heard it again: “Hey, man, I’m on your shoulder.” I looked, and the fly was talking to me, only I realized that this was no fly; it was a little blue ball of light. It wasn’t bright enough to be noticed by anyone else. “Call me Chip,” he said. “I can help you out, man. Just tell me what you need.”

 

I couldn’t believe it: this little, blue thing was talking to me. I thought I was going crazy. We all know that stressful situations tend to cause a loss of coherent brain activity. I had way too much on my mind to begin worrying about some little blue thing-a-ma-jig on my shoulder that no one else could see. And better yet, just earlier that morning, the radio spoke of trying something different from the routine if things weren’t working out. So, with this in mind, I decided to play along. I said, “I need more tables. These people have been waiting for a while now, and they’re patience is running on empty.”

 

“No problem,” said Chip. He gave out a rebel yell, just as loud as any of the full grown rednecks, and a massive swarm of blue lights assembled outside the window. It looked like an airship hovering over the parking lot. Chip flew outside, stopped in front of the swarm, flew around in some strange signal-like patterns, and it just a few seconds, the swarm flew up and over the restaurant. Then the restaurant began to utter with soft vibrations emanating from the roof. Chip then told me to call the next party on the list.

 

“Harding, party of three?” I called. They came up to the host stand, and I waited for Chip to return, as things were in his hands now. I waited for a little bit, then it soon became awkward. But then the swarm burst through the window, glass and wooden window panes going everywhere. It lifted the people and carried them back out the window and into the sky. I panicked, ran out of the store, chasing them. I looked into the horizon, but they were nowhere to be found. What had Chip done? I started freaking out. The glands in my neck were pumping adrenaline to my head, and my heart was racing to catch up. My back still toward the broken window, I then heard laughter. Not chuckling, but full blown laughter. I turned and looked up, and the people were eating at a table on the roof. Chip had fashioned tables on the roof!

 

“What are you standing out there for, man?” Chip yelled from the host stand inside. I had to break myself free from the trance and get back to work, as we still had plenty of people waiting. I returned to my post and began calling the names one by one:

 

Hasenpfeffer

Harrison

Hansen

Manson

Magillicuddy

Dreyfus

Forscythe

Newman

Puddy

Peterman

Costanza

…Smith…

 

The people were being flown out the window just as quickly as they were being called. My enemy was shrinking by the second, and my nerves began to settle; but then I realized that with all these people being sat, we didn’t have enough waiters to serve them. I started panicking again; beads of sweat began to pour from my hair. But just as if he was reading my mind, Chip gave another rebel yell and in a second, a big, blue box crashed in through the same hole that the swarm had made earlier and landed in the lobby. It stood eight feet tall and over three feet wide with flashing red and green lights; it was a sharp contrast to the dark green wallpaper and mahogany sidings in the room. The swarm then flew out into the dining area, picked out a waiter, brought him back to the lobby, dropped him in the box, and slammed the door with a thunderous boom. Then the lights on the box started blinking uncontrollably, and the lobby filled with smoke. After a minute, the door of the box opened, and as the smoke cleared away, out marched the waiter with nothing wrong with him. He walked back into the dining room, but then another waiter just like him sprang out and climbed up to the roof, and then another after him, and another after him. I started to hear “In the Hall of the Mountain King” being played from within the box. This was no ordinary box; it was a cloning machine. Not only had Chip exhibited great skill in carpentry by making tables on the roof, but he had also mastered the art of cloning!

 

The restaurant ran smoothly for the rest of the day. When we closed that night, I had to clean up the mess in the lobby; that is, the broken glass and window panes from where the swarm had busted through as well as find somewhere to put the big, blue cloning machine. As I was sweeping up some glass, and trying to think of how the giant hole in the wall was going to be fixed up by tomorrow, I felt something land on my shoulder. I then heard that same rebel yell, and the swarm of blue lights returned. Then, in a humming cloud of blue-white magic, the lobby returned to normal. The big, blue cloning machine had disappeared, the windows were all back in place without a scratch. The tables on the roof were gone. The swarm, now outside in the parking lot, where they first assembled, gathered one last time to form the words “Good Bye” in the air, and then they flew off into the night, hopefully to help someone else. I then looked at Chip, still on my shoulder, and with a teardrop forming at the corner of my eye, I gave him a hearty farewell.

 

“Hey, man,” he said in his slightly raspy yet jovial voice. “Don’t worry; I’ll be back. Just get me some free bread next time.” I walked him outside, and watched him follow the path of the setting sun.

 

You could say that on that day, I had a Chip on my shoulder, and that made all the difference.

Author's Note

This piece was created for a theatre class at the college I attend. The class was called Storytelling, and we had to create an original tall tale for our final exam. I've already taken the class, and the teacher seemed to like it enough to pass me with adequate credit, but I want to craft this story into something better. Feel free to be honest...and I mean it.

Reviews

[kasG]

I really enjoyed this. Quite a tall tale, I must say. I really enjoy the humor and sarcasm in this piece. "Just get me some free bread next time" = hilarious.
How to improve? I think the biggest thing for me is that you could have chosen more precise words on occasion. For example: You wrote "I had my two trainees attend to them while I maintained the records up front." If you used "I instructed" instead of "I had," the language is more precise, and it shows that your main character is a man in control. Which would offset the chaos even better.

Other than that, though, I think you did well. Tall tales aren't meant to be deep, character stories. They're supposed to be fun and unbelievable; and you did that well.