Team Food Makers

“But Mr. Wilbur—I can't possibly get all these people done before eight!” I stared at the line of customers waiting for their orders to be taken.
My manager, a stiff, balding man, merely raised his eyebrows. “Eight's closing time and we need everybody taken care of. I've got to get back to the make line.”
The “Food Makers Italian Restaurant” was a busy place at this hour. As a new member of “Team Food Makers” I was finding myself a little bit overwhelmed.
Great billows of steam rose from the pans of deep fried chicken and noodles. Cooks shouted different orders at different people. The customers in the dining room talk, laugh, and clatter their forks. Speakers blare the latest popular radio station. And Willy would not stop setting his pots down with a crash after washing them.
I leaned forward over the register, trying desperately to hear the mumbling voice of my first customer. I had to get this right—if I called the manager again, surely I would be fired.
“. . . One Pasta Delight. . . Any specials today?”
O bother, I despised the “specials” question. Not only did we have dozens of “specials”, but they were all differing in every characteristic and were a chore to recite. Besides, I had no idea how many people this customer wanted to feed or how much of a discount they wanted. It would take ages to explain them all. I took an inward deep breath and pasted on my happy cashier voice.
“Well, we've got several—the Meal Deal Deluxe, where you can get two pasta bowls and a soda for 11.99, or you could get the Chips for Days Deal and add two bags of chips!”
The customer looked thoughtful so I forged on.
“We also got Dinner For Four, where you can get three Cheesy Subs, one Bowl and four drinks for 22.99, and you can add Guacamole Cups for 4.99.” I paused. 
He considered. “Do you have anything for one person?”
I suppressed a loud “Why didn't you tell me that before?” and looked back at the register. “Um, we have a small lunch deal—a sandwich, chips, and a drink for 14.99, or you can take off the drink and pay 12.99, or–”
“Got it. I'll take that one. Except can I add a Pasta Delight for three dollars?”
I consulted the register. “One Pasta Delight costs 4.99. I can add that if you want, or—”
The customer waved a coupon at me. “It says here, ‘Pasta Delight for just 2.99.’”
Coupons were tricky things and I couldn't remember how to program them in. I scanned the coupon list but couldn't see the Pasta Delight one. Panic seized my being.
“I'm sorry sir, I don't see that coupon listed. A Pasta Delight costs 4.99, but that would only bring your total up to 17.98–”
The customer frowned thoughtfully down at the screen. “Can I add the chips for 2.99?”
I frantically reversed to the order and made the adjustment. “Sure. I, uh, don't know about the coupon. . .” Maybe there was a code? A password? If only I had paid more attention to the training! The family behind my customer was getting impatient; there was fifteen minutes till eight; I didn't know how this computer worked—
“Hey, miss—it looks right,” said the customer over the clamor of the next pot hitting the counter. “It says here the total is 15. 98.”
I swallowed. The computer hadn't added the chips’ cost yet. “Uh, I'm not—I dont—”
“Well, here you are, miss.” the customer smiled genially and handed me a twenty dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
I stared after him, clutching the bill.
The fact that I had gotten through my first customer gave me little confidence as I faced the next customer: a family with three small children. The mom approached, fumbling in her purse for her credit card.
“Stand still, Jordan! Don't push your brother, Emily. Do you have any deals?”
This last was directed at me. I began to recite: “Well, you can get a Meal Deal Deluxe for 11.99, comes with two pasta bowls and a drink—”
The oldest child reached for a display of menus. The second child seized her arm. The stack tipped.
“We'll take that one. Ella, put that back!”
The pigtailed youngster thrust the menu back into the pile and grinned innocently. Unbalanced, however, the pile slid to the floor. The youngest child began to cry.
I watched as the mom fumbled for her card and tried to restack the pile. This was the most awkward part: should I leave my post behind the register to help, which would disrupt the general flow of things, especially halfway through the order, or just standing here with a smile on my face while—
Crash! The middle child slipped on a menu and nosedived across the room. The oldest, who had been picking through the menus with interest, got the idea and rolled through the pile, giggling.
“Add three kids meals to that,” said the mom, grabbing the little child's hand. “Shh, Jordan! Ella, Emily, stop that.”
Three kids meals. . . I scanned the register and found the button. It would only add one kids meal, and punching it several times didn't seem to change anything. I backtracked to the order screen and pressed “add meal.” Nothing happened, and I got a horrible sinking feeling as I realized the computer hadn't reset the order.
“Im sorry. . . Ma'am, could you repeat the order for me please—”
“Mommy she took mine!” Said the younger child. Apparently there had been a dispute over one of the menus.
“It's mine!”
“Put it down, you two. I would like the meal deal Deluxe and three kids meals---that's a special, right?”
“Yes, that's our weekly special,” I muttered, desperately typing in the order, which still wouldn't put in another kids meal. What was going on? 
The customer was holding something out. I registered the dreaded sight of a coupon.
“Hey, I was wondering if you could add this on. “Three kids meals for 12.99.” Instead of full-price.”
Maybe it was alright to ask for help. I had to admit that I was completely out of ideas.
I would face being fired if I had to. These people needed food.
“Mr. Wilbur!” I called into the kitchen. “It isn't working!”
He marched out and bent over the register, practiced fingers pressing all the right buttons. “Will that be all, ma'am? Alright, should be about fifteen minutes—have a good day. I can help the next person over here.”
Amazed, I watched the line dwindle. There was still five minutes till eight when he breezed off the last order and faced me. I braced myself for “firing.”
But Mr. Wilbur only began explaining how to work the coupons, showing me the right buttons. “You'll do better next time.”
Maybe it was alright to ask for help. This was “Team Food Makers” after all.

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