David Alan Dedin
The Little Drummer Boy
Twenty-Seven
The Little Drummer Boy
1991
A heavy December snow blurred the sky like ticker tape, as Checker’s twinkled beneath a blanket of white, its dining room windows glowing with the coziness of a Thomas Kinkade painting. Christmas was only five days away, and the restaurant – with its close proximity to Northwoods Mall – had been packed since noon, with a growing onslaught of holiday shoppers, diners, and drinkers. A good two feet of snow sat on the ground already, with the prediction of three more throughout the night and tomorrow. As the headlights of snow plows passed on War Memorial Drive, Mia – like a chimney sweep in a Santa hat – was tasked with keeping the customer sidewalks both shoveled and salted. She moved as fast as a Dickens pickpocket.
A cold whoosh of snowflakes announced the arrival of Guinevere when she came through the lobby’s exterior doors and pushed through the crowd towards the hostess stand. Natalie glanced up from the podium, her eyes growing wide at Gwen’s latest purchase – a stunning white mink, with a fur hood and hand cozy. The waitress looked like an Aspen skier who’d spent more time in Neiman Marcus than on the slopes.
“Well, someone’s been nice to Santa,” Natalie admired.
“I needed something new for caroling next week,” Guinevere told her. “And I didn’t want to clash with the snow.”
“I love Christmas carols,” Nat said. “Especially this close to the holiday.”
“It’s such a magical time of year,” Gwen added, looking up as the Bradley Boys came in from the dining room together. “There’s so much joy, so much happiness…so many things to be thankful for.”
“And what’s your favorite carol to sing?” Natalie asked, taking her cue.
“It’s funny you should ask,” Gwen told her, “because it’s been on my mind all day!”
Kristen – Remember her? She was the Valley Girl bitch who had no empathy when Cheryl Bennish died – entered the lobby, holding a tray filled with hot chocolate. She passed out steaming mugs to customers, while the Bradley’s started to hum. The MUZAK played a whimsical instrumental, like the opening to Gene Kelly’s Singin’ in the Rain. Hot chocolate in hand, Guinevere scampered into the dining room. The Bradley’s followed behind, singing like a choir from a 1940s movie:
“You know Dancer and Prancer and Comet and Blitzen –
Bette, Babs, and Liza … and the singing Pat Nixon…”
Stopping at the top of the dining room stairs, Guinevere was flanked by Alan and Patrick, who had been working together since lunch. The Bradley’s took point behind the trio:
“But, can you recall…the most famous reindeer of all?”
Rodney emerged from the kitchen wearing a hearty red dress, dude-sized stilettos, and enough makeup to walk the streets. Two large antlers stuck out from his Dolly Parton wig, each with a piece of plastic mistletoe on the end. The caroling servers allowed the manager to take his place in front, in full view of customers. Guinevere tried to sing but couldn’t because she was laughing so hard. So, Alan sang for her:
“Rudolph, the drag queen reindeer…had a thing for panty hose –
He had an eye for fashion…his cave was draped in satin throws!”
Then, Patrick sang:
“All of the other reindeer…used to laugh, they’d call him queer –
“They’d really get offended when, he’d order wine instead of beer!”
Then, the trio sang together:
“Then, one foggy Christmas Eve, Santa came to say” –
Bill, drunk, appeared out of nowhere, downing the last of a bottle of whiskey; he threw it onto the floor with a CREESH. Bill pulled Rodney in close to him, his breath reeking of booze:
“Rudolph (hic) I love you –
(hic) I need you –
(hic) I want you –
Did I men-tion I’m gay?”
(a bom, bom, bom…)
Her composure returned, Guinevere took the lead again. She strolled through the dining room nonchalantly, as customers enjoyed their meals:
“Now, all the reindeer loathe him.
As Rudolph’s Santa’s favorite buck” –
She stopped in front of a table – a family of four, mom, pop, two delightful children, who were clearly dressed for church. The family looked up together and sang in unison:
“Santa eyed Rudolph’s antlers –
Rubbed his crotch and said, let’s fuck!”
They returned to their meals.
Guinevere finished the song:
“Soon the happy couple was married. The elves, they wished them all the best –
And now Santa Claus and Rudolph spend” –
The whole staff brought it home:
“Christmas boffing in Key Weeeeeeeeeeeeessssssssst!”
The restaurant exploded in riotous applause.
* * * * *
“Hey Nat. Where am I at tonight?” Guinevere asked, stopping at the hostess stand in the busy restaurant lobby. “You’re a closer, right?” Natalie asked.
“Yup.”
“Lower forties, but all your tables are sat right now,” Natalie said. She looked up and noticed Gwen’s new coat. “Well, someone’s been nice to Santa.”
“I needed something new for caroling next week,” Guinevere told her. “And I didn’t want to clash with the snow.”
The hostess chuckled. “Your friends have been here since ten. We’ve been slammed all day. Get ready for a busy Saturday night.”
“Thanks, Nat.”
Grabbing her tickets, Gwen entered the crowded dining room, then rounded the corner into the noisy server’s alley. The hostess was right – the kitchen was a zoo; it was all hands on deck this weekend, with nearly every member of the staff on tonight’s schedule. Guinevere hung her fur beside a row of puffy coats and jean jackets, then joined the organized chaos at the expo window. Bill trayed food, while Big Tim kept his cooks on task. Brenda Lee sang Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree from the speakers above.
“I need food runners!” Bill yelled.
“Hey Bill,” Gwen said cheerfully, coming to his side.
“Run this to fifty-two?” he asked.
“Got it,” she said, hoisting the tray. Servers in red hats gave her room as Guinevere tottered down the alley, carrying the big tray into the dining room – “CORNER!” She headed for the table, setting the tray on a jack. She dished out food, asked if the customers needed anything else, then carried the empty tray and jack to the side station, where Patrick was filling drinks –
He looked perturbed – “Another fur coat?”
“I need to keep my baby warm,” she said.
“You need to be more discreet. You’re calling too much attention to us.”
“Says the waiter with diamond rings,” she said. “That’s the pot calling the kettle gold.”
“Did my Schnookums bring me a pot of gold?” Alan asked, overhearing when he entered the side station. He unloaded a tray of dirty dishes into a nearby bus tub. “Not that I need it. You’ve missed a profitable lunch hour.”
“Two of your tables are mine,” Patrick told Gwen, his voice a little curt. He was getting ready to present a fake ticket to a table. Their bill was almost $75. Patrick scribbled Merry Christmas! at the bottom, then left the side station with a fistful of Cokes. “I’m dropping forty-four’s check now.” The two watched Patrick zip into the dining room without eye contact.
“What’s his problem?” Gwen asked.
“He’s just focused on tables,” Alan said as snow fell in the big windows behind. “It’s been a busy shift. And Sharon’s been up everybody’s ass today, complaining about food costs. So, watch yourself. She’s paying close attention to what comes out of the kitchen.”
“Got it.”
Rob Vain entered the side station, looking stressed. “Anyone going to the bar?”
“I am,” Alan said.
“Can you turn this in for me?” Rob handed him a ticket.
“Sure.”
“Thanks.”
The three went separate directions as Alan returned to the kitchen and pushed his way towards the alley’s bar window. Derek was now the restaurant’s de facto bartender, a position he enjoyed because it was perfect for his personality…plus, he could discreetly drink on the job. Guests absolutely loved him because he often put on a show, twirling his barware and liquor bottles like Tom Cruise from Cocktail. As Alan approached the window, Derek was spinning a freshly-washed glass, straight from the sink. The wet highball sent an arc of hot water directly into Alan’s face, like cum. Now, Alan looked perturbed –
“If you ever do that again, I’m going to tell you exactly what that just felt like.”
Derek grinned, thought a moment, then recoiled.
“WE’RE ON A NINETY MINUTE WAIT!” Sharon shrieked, bursting through the bar’s saloon doors. She was wearing a Kris Kringle-red blazer today, with her usual black dress, hose, and heels. “For those of you working only lunch, Laurie has your sidework assignments!”
Laurie, wearing ornaments as earrings, held up a clipboard at the far end of the alley.
“Jingle fuckin’ bells,” Jackie muttered to Ty.
“Guys, I need more food runners!”
“WALKING IN, ONE ARTICHOKE, TWO FRIES!” Rob Vain shouted.
“Walking in, six cow patties, two slabs, one tuna!” Big Tim called to his cooks.
“Cover me?” Patrick asked Alan, entering the kitchen with sweat on his face. His cheeks were flushed, and his fingers tapped impatiently on his apron. One of the Bradleys’ was just finishing up at the Max. With Alan behind, Patrick immediately took the Bradley’s place.
“Exactly how many tables do you have right now?” Alan asked. He had never seen Patrick break a sweat like this before.
“Eight,” Patrick admitted, ringing in a ticket then immediately voiding it out. “Two of Gwen’s, two of Jennifer’s, and then four of my own.”
“Jesus,” Alan muttered. “I’ve got five, and I can barely keep up.”
“I need to make some money tonight,” Patrick said.
“How many of the eight are in play?” He watched Patrick hesitate, reading between the lines – “All of them?” Alan was aghast. “Patrick, that’s going to put a big hole in your sales! What’s Sharon going to say if she audits your tickets?”
“Only six are in play,” Patrick admitted. “The other two are legit.”
“Let me guess – the two two-tops?”
“I made sure to tell Sharon I was taking a quick break to grab some food,” Patrick said. “That will explain any gaps in my orders between lunch and dinner.”
“But she still can see” – Alan hushed as the manager shot by in a flash of crimson. Once her heels rounded the corner, he continued. “But she still can see you on the floor now, working. She knows that you’re waiting on tables.”
“She knows that I’m finishing my tables,” Patrick clarified. “I can’t just go sit down in back for thirty minutes…I have to keep an eye on my customers until they’re finished eating.”
Alan sighed, giving in. “Fine.” He glanced down the server’s alley before turning back to his friend. “Can I help you with anything?”
With his head still on the computer screen, Patrick handed Alan an order – “Turn this in.” Taking the ticket, Alan looked at the six-top’s total: $101.67 –
Fuck, Patrick, that’s almost $200 between two tables alone. And if you still have four others in play, you’ll have taken close to $500 – and it’s not even dinner yet! If Sharon were to audit your tickets tonight, she’s gonna know that orders are missing!
“Have they noticed the shrimp is missing yet?” Patrick asked, as though reading Alan’s mind.
“What shrimp?” Alan asked, taking Patrick’s place at the Max. He watched Patrick bee-line for the wrapping station, where two large handled bags of customers’ leftovers were packaged and waiting. Alan quickly rang in his own ticket.
“WHAT HAPPENED TO ALL THE SHRIMP?” Sharon screamed from the prep line. “WE HAD A WHOLE GODDAMN LEXAN PREPPED AND READY TO GO!”
Grabbing the heavy bags of takeaway, Patrick motioned for Alan to follow. They rounded the corner, then ducked into the customer restroom. Luckily, the washroom was clear, and the two quickly ran into the handicapped stall together, locking the door behind. Once inside, Patrick started ripping open the bags’ contents –
Both were packed with large, raw shrimp prawns.
* * * * *
“I’ll pour, you flush,” Patrick told him. Opening a Styrofoam to-go container, he dumped a good five pounds of shrimp into the toilet – splash!
KER-FLUSH!
He emptied a second container – splash!
KER-FLUSH!
And a third – splash!
KER-FLUSH!
And then, over the next few minutes –
Splash, splash, splash…
KER-FLUSH! KER-FLUSH! KER-FLUSH!
Customers came and went in the restroom as Alan and Patrick clandestinely flushed at least thirty pounds – and close to $1,000 worth – of prawns. Once the shrimp was gone, the duo then ripped the empty takeaway containers into pieces, flushing them as well.
KER-FLUSH!
KER-FLUSH!
KER-FLUSH!
* * * * *
The whole operation had taken just under six minutes, and once the coast was clear, the two left the restroom, heading different directions. After checking on his own section, Alan helped Patrick finish his outstanding tables. Forty minutes later, both servers were finally caught up, and as Alan suspected, Patrick had pocketed almost half a grand so far.
As the clock neared 6pm – and the restaurant began its busiest night of the season – Alan, Patrick, and Guinevere met on top of the dining room stairs, taking a moment to touch base. Outside the restaurant, the falling snow glowed a brilliant bluish-white within the parking lot’s mercury vapor lamps. Rodney popped his head around the corner: “Eighty-six shrimp!”
“We’re out of shrimp on a Saturday?” Gwen asked, feigning surprise. “The managers must not have ordered enough.”
“Something like that,” Rodney muttered angrily, returning to the kitchen. Gwen narrowed her eyes at Patrick and Alan. “Do I really want to know?”
“Yes, but not right now,” Patrick told her. “It’s going to be busy, so we all need to focus.”
“You mean, we haven’t made enough already?” Alan joked.
“My goal is twelve-hundred,” Patrick admitted. “That’s just what I need to cover my bills this week.”
Alan chuckled – Most of these people will be lucky to make $120 during their shifts. And here Patrick is talking about one-twenty, plus an extra zero.
“SHARON!” Laurie screamed, from the alley. The trio looked up towards the corner, where the thick-thighed waitress came out of the kitchen, her shoes and socks soaking wet. Her face was white when she looked at the three – “Have you seen Sharon?!”
“No, but…Laurie, what’s wrong?” Patrick asked.
“We found the missing shrimp!” Laurie cried, her voice more disgusted than shocked. “It’s…it’s…it’s everywhere – mmmmph!”
Before she could finish, she covered her mouth and ran to the restroom.
More servers with wet feet slopped out of the kitchen. Everyone was grossed out. Jackie appeared behind them, clearly fighting back laugher. Her eyes were glassy when she noticed the trio: “The shrimp ain’t missing no more,” she said –
“The shrimp came back, and they brought all their friends!”
* * * * *
“Come, they told me, pa rum pum pum pum…”
The alley’s ceiling fluorescents seemed twice as bright as normal as Bob Segar sang from above, A Very Special Christmas. The lights were reflected in a good half-inch of water, as every floor drain in the kitchen backed up at once, flooding the alley, the cook’s & prep lines, and threatened the back stockrooms and office. But it wasn’t just water that was bubbling up from the drains. Hundreds of raw shrimp bobbed up and down like boats, next to pieces of Styrofoam, and bits of food and grease from the dishwasher. But even worse were the long, pulpy swirls of partially-dissolved toilet paper that floated lazily in the flood like tapeworms –
The sewer was backing up into the kitchen.
Big Tim’s eyes widened when a small brown turd appeared near his feet, floating like a rubber ducky.
“DON’T ANYBODY MOVE!” Bill shouted from expo. “WE DON’T WANT ANY OF THIS TO SPLASH ON THE SHELVES OR COUNTERS!”
“I’m standing in SHIT!” Cochise yelled from the grill.
“We’re all standing in shit!” Ty cried, pulling herself onto the Coke machine.
“Shut the Hobart!” someone yelled. “It’s just making it worse!”
“This is disgusting!”
“Oh God, it’s in my shoes!”
“WALKING IN, ONE CHEESE FRY – WHAT THE…?!” Kristen, oblivious, shouted on entering the saloon doors. She immediately slipped in the water and fell face-first into the mess – SPLASH! – her full beverage tray hydroplaning ahead of her.
The entire alley gasped when the cocktail waitress raised her head, toilet paper in her hair, her scrunchie soiled with bits of stringy-brown. It took a moment to process that she was completely covered in filth, and her face lost color on realizing that when she hit the floor, her mouth had been open…
The alley fell silent, except for Bob Segar.
Kristen’s pupils looked down, past her nose, to her wet lips, pinched closed, which were holding back…contents.
“Mary nodded, pa rum pum pum pum…”
All eyes fell to her Barbie-pink lip gloss, which opened to expel a prawn in what looked like a mouthful of beef gravy.
“The ox and lamb kept time, pa rum pum pum pum…”
The cocktail waiteress screamed so loud, she could be heard in the lobby.
“I played my drum for him, pa rum pum pum pum…”
Sharon burst through the bar’s saloon doors, in time to have Kristen – her teeth looking like she’d just been eating Hershey’s – spin around in panic, and slam chest-to-chest into the manager’s red blazer – squish. When the two women separated, Sharon’s tits looked like chocolate-covered cherries.
“I played my best for him, pa rum pum pum pum…”
Alan whispered to Patrick, “Cover me while I change the register tape?”
“Rum pum pum pum…”
“We’d better do it now,” Patrick whispered back.
“Rum pum pum pum…”
Eugene with an E sauntered around the corner, completely unaffected by the sight of the kitchen. He stepped into the slop, as though having done so on more than one occasion before – “Looks like we need a shit pump.”
* * * * *
Several hours later, Roto-Rooter hoses snaked through the kitchen as cooks wrapped in trash bags – makeshift hazmat suits – waddled through the kitchen carrying buckets of bleach water, cleaning what they could. Everything had to be washed, every dish, every utensil, every stainless-steel surface…and despite being barely 8pm, the restaurant had been forced to close early, under the guise of “a minor electrical problem.” For the last 90 minutes, the hostesses handed out free appetizer coupons while turning people away at the door.
By some act of God, the alley’s tile floor had been laid with a slightly raised “lip” by the corner, which had narrowly prevented a river of what now looked like French onion soup from cascading into the restaurant, and down the dining room stairs. Over the past two hours, the staff had carefully finished serving existing customers – and getting them out of the building as fast as possible, without calling attention to the Holy Grail of Health Department violations.
The Hobart station was completely obscured by dirty dishes and racks of glasses, as the machine had been turned off to prevent more water from entering the system. It was only a partial solution however; legally, the restaurant couldn’t prevent customers from using the restrooms. Every flush of urinals and ladies’ toilets sent another bloop of bubbles through the drains, as servers walked carefully through the kitchen, their pants tucked into socks –
WOOSHHHHHH!
A hideous sucking sound announced that the plumbers had finally cleared the system, causing the drains to all burp at once. A large, commercial shop vac was heard in a truck outside, and over the next ten minutes, the backup subsided – and the floor, though filthy, was finally clear. Industrial fans were brought in as Rodney propped the door to the manager’s office open. Roger and Duncan began to squeegee the floors, while Sharon appeared in the server’s alley, her blazer long tossed in the trash. Servers filed into the kitchen, and all eyes fell to the manager.
“Listen up!” Sharon shouted. “Rodney will take you one by one in the office. Have your tickets, cash, and media ready – lets be quick about this!”
“Are we going to be open tomorrow?” Jackie asked.
“Of course, we’re going to be open!” Sharon snapped. “And I expect all of you to be on time for your shifts.”
“I called the facility,” Big Tim said to Sharon, coming out of the office. “I explained what happened, and that we’ll need the crew through the night for cleanup. They’re sending an officer over for supervision, but if the cleanup takes until their shifts tomorrow morning, it’s our responsibility to provide them breaks, meals – and a change of clothes.”
He paused before adding –
“We’re also responsible for the officer’s overtime.”
Too angry to respond, Sharon disappeared into the dining room. Rob Vain noticed that both her dress and hose had little orange spots, from bleach.
“Let’s get this line moving!” Rodney called from the office. “Ty, you’re up first.”
“It’s done,” Alan whispered to Patrick and Guinevere, joining them in line. Alan’s hands were bright red and smelled acidic from having been washed in Clorox. The trio kept quiet as they waited their turn for Rodney in the office. Fifteen minutes later, as the three grabbed their coats to leave, a commotion was heard near the employee restroom.
“The toilet is full of shrimp!” Laurie yelled. “I went to flush it, and then THIS happened!”
Cooks and managers gathered around the open bathroom door, where the commode was overflowing, clogged with a tankful of waterlogged prawns. Sharon pushed her way into the restroom, her face as red as Alan’s hands. Her eyes shot to Big Tim – “Are you still telling me that your cooks aren’t stealing?”
Tim scoffed – “By hiding shrimp in the toilet, Ms. Donovan?”
Glaring at the nearby cooks, Sharon stormed into the manager’s office and slammed the door behind. A moment later, Rodney stepped out. He called to all servers in earshot, “For those of you who open tomorrow, I need you here an hour early to help put this place back together!”
Tugging on coats, the remaining servers grumbled and quickly headed for their cars.
When the trio left the restaurant, Mia was still outside, shoveling.
* * * * *
“Merry Christmas, darling…happy new year, too…”
“You two owe me a shopping trip,” Guinevere complained, as the three entered Thompson’s Food Basket, a 24-hour grocery store that also carried household goods and some clothing. The snow was nearing a full-blown blizzard in the windows, as Gwen grabbed a shopping cart and headed towards the cosmetics. “And I don’t want to ever hear another word about silverware in the ceiling!”
Alan and Patrick followed in silence.
“So, do you think that Kristen’s coming back?” Gwen asked, placing a handful of makeup into the basket, followed by several bottles of pricey shampoo and hairspray. “I wouldn’t if I were her. I’d be too humiliated.”
“No one even saw her leave,” Patrick said, “So I’m guessing no.”
“Serves that bitch right,” Gwen said, turning towards the small appliances aisle. “Though, I wish it was Laurie who’d gotten a mouthful of crap – which reminds me, I need toothpaste.” She grabbed six tubes without stopping the cart.
“Does this place sell pants?” Alan asked, trying to keep up; he looked down at his own, which were as ruined as Sharon’s dress. He grabbed a few pairs of socks for himself and threw them into Gwen’s basket. “Or shoes?”
“I think K-mart is open late this week,” Patrick suggested, jogging behind.
“Yeah, but I’m not going to drive that far in this weather,” Alan told him.
“Ugh, K-mart,” Gwen scoffed as she reached the microwaves. The two men watched her grab an oven off the display and add it to the basket.
“Err…Christmas gift?” Patrick asked.
“No – my mom can just use a new one,” she said as though daring him to object. Gwen then turned her cart towards the liquor department. “She can also use a new blender, but Thompson’s doesn’t sell Cuisinart’s.”
“Heads up!” Patrick tossed Alan a bottle of lotion for his hands.
“I’m not even going to ask where you found that much shrimp so quickly,” Gwen told Alan.
“Desperate times,” Alan said. “But I’m stripping as soon as I walk into the kitchen, and I’m throwing this entire uniform away.” He glanced at his reflection in the beer cooler glass. “I need a shower.”
“I’ll take one of those, one of those, and two of those,” Guinevere told Patrick, pointing at wine bottles on a top shelf. Patrick shot her a look – I thought we agreed, no drinking while you’re pregnant?
Reading his mind, she fired back a glare of her own – They’re not for me, dumbass. I’m buying wine for Christmas, for the family.
As the cart was now getting too heavy to push, Alan took Gwen’s place. He casually headed for the cash registers. Gwen noticed this – “I’m not done shopping.”
“Yes, you are,” Patrick said firmly.
“My Schnookums shouldn’t be shopping at Thompson’s anyway,” Alan offered. “We should be at Bergner’s or Famous Barr, with a quick stop at Gloria Jean’s in between.”
“Fine,” she grumbled, throwing a bag of Funyuns into the basket. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
The trio headed for the cashiers. Alan and Patrick split the $275 bill, then loaded Guinevere’s trunk for her, brushing off the snow that had accumulated while they had been in the store. A short while later, all three vehicles – Gwen’s Chrysler, Alan’s truck, and Patrick’s Eldorado – went different directions within the snowy night.
And unbeknownst to all of them, Laurie sat watching from her idling car in the parking lot.
That was quite a shopping trip, she thought, for a shift cut short by The Phantom of the Restaurant…