That he didn’t make me feel utterly incompetent by my having to call him 22,000 times tonight.
That I actually had a pretty good sense of how to handle tonight, but since it was my first such horrific experience in this restaurant, I had to call him 22,000 times.
That it wasn’t the substance of how the guests acted tonight that made me call him 22,000 times, it was the whole “Do I call him or don’t I?” thing that made me call him 22,000 times tonight.
That I held myself together throughout it all–throughout all of the crap of the freak show that made up this off-season Sunday night.
That I really, really did hold myself together.
That his nice offer of “a drink” after the horrific freak show kept me from going to the beach bar.
That tonight wasn’t as bad as it appeared.
That tonight was more than as bad as it appeared.
But not because of the freak show.
That tonight I felt like a “real” manager of sorts, that we didn’t implode on my watch despite my 22,000 calls to him, that the drink and conversation I barely listened to with him and another pal while I took him up on that drink after the night that was a freak show was incredibly welcome and needed.
That I owe him 22,000 thanks.