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CITYWIDE BUSBOY STRIKE
MANHATTAN — Restaurant workers citywide have thrown down their dishtowels in an effort to show solidarity with Jangbu Panasa, a fellow busboy who was dismissed from the four-star uptown brasserie Les Hautes Manger last Thursday night after a run-in involving the dowager princess of Genovia.
Witnesses say Panasa, 18, was passing through the restaurant bearing a tray laden with dishware when he tripped and inadvertently spilled soup on the dowager princess. Pierre Jupe, manager of Les Hautes Manger, says Panasa had already received a verbal warning for dropping a tray earlier in the evening.
“The guy is a klutz, plain and simple,” Jupe, 42, told reporters.
Panasa’s supporters, however, tell a different story. There is reason to believe the busboy did not simply lose his balance, but tripped over a customer’s dog. New York City Health Department regulations require that only service animals, such as Seeing Eye dogs, be allowed inside establishments in which food is served to the public. If Les Hautes Manger is proven to have allowed customers to bring their dogs into the dining area, the restaurant could be subject to fines and even shut down.
“There was no dog,” restaurant owner Jean St. Luc told reporters. “The rumor about a dog is nothing but that, a rumor. Our customers would never bring a dog into our dining room. They are too well-bred.”
Rumors of a dog—or a large rat—persist, however. Several witnesses claim they spotted an apparently hairless creature, approximately the size of a cat or large rat, darting in and out of the dining tables. A few mentioned that they thought the animal was some sort of pet of the dowager princess’s, who was at the restaurant to celebrate the 15th birthday of her granddaughter, New York City’s own royal, the princess of Genovia, Amelia Thermopolis Renaldo.
Whatever the reason behind Panasa’s dismissal, busboys throughout the city have vowed to continue their work stoppage until his job is restored. While restaurateurs insist that their dining establishments will remain open, busboys or no, there is reason for concern. Most waiters and waitresses, used only to taking orders and serving food, not clearing tables, may find themselves overburdened. Already some are discussing a sympathy strike to support the busboys, many of whom are illegal immigrants who work off the books, generally for less than minimum wage and without such benefits as vacation or sick days, health insurance, or retirement plans.
Regardless, city restaurants will struggle to remain open—though strike sponsors would like nothing better than to see the Metro area’s dining community suffer for what they see as decades of neglect and condescension.
“Busboys have long been the butt of every-one’s jokes,” says strike supporter Lilly Moscovitz, 15, who h0elped organize an impromptu march on City Hall on Sunday. “It’s time the mayor and everyone else in this city wake up and smell the dirty dishwater: Without busboys, this city’s name is mud.”
I seriously can’t believe this. This whole thing has gotten way out of control. And all because of Rommel!!!! Well, and Lilly.
I truly couldn’t believe it when Hans pulled up in front of the Moscovitzes’ building this morning, and Lilly was standing there next to Michael, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. I actually don’t know what that expression means, but Mamaw says it all the time, so it must mean something bad. And it does kind of fit how Lilly looked. Like she was just SOOOOOOOOO pleased with herself.
I just glared at her and went, “Talked to Boris yet, Lilly?” I didn’t even say anything to Michael, on account of still being kind of mad at him over the whole prom thing. It was really hard to be mad at him because of course it was morning and he looked really, really good, all freshly shaved and smooth-faced, and like his neck would smell better than ever. And of course he is the best boyfriend of all time, since he wrote me that song and gave me the snowflake necklace and all of that.
But whatever. I have to be mad at him. Because that is the most absurd thing I’ve heard of, a guy not wanting to go to his own senior prom. I could see if he didn’t have a date or whatever, but Michael so totally DOES have a date. ME!!!!!!!!!! And doesn’t he know that by not taking me to his senior prom he is totally depriving me of the one memory of high school that I might actually be able to recall without shuddering? A memory I might be able to cherish, and even show my grandchildren photos of?
No, of course Michael doesn’t know this, because I haven’t told him. But how can I? I mean, he should know. If he is my true soul mate, he should KNOW without my having to tell him. It is perfectly common knowledge throughout our set that I have seen the movie Pretty in Pink forty-seven times. Does he think I watched it all those times because of my fondness for the actor who played the Duck Man?
But Lilly totally blew off my Boris question.
“You should have been there yesterday, Mia,” she said. “For the march on City Hall, I mean. We had to have been a thousand people strong. It was totally empowering. It brought tears to my eyes, seeing the people come together like that to help further the cause of the working man.”
“You know what else brought tears to someone’s eyes?” I asked her pointedly. “You making out in the closet with Jangbu. That brought tears to your boyfriend’s eyes. You remember your boyfriend BORIS, don’t you, Lilly?”
But Lilly just looked out the window at all the flowers that had sprung as if by magic from the dirt in the median on Park Avenue (actually, there’s nothing magic about it: NYC parks employees plant them fully grown in the dead of night). “Oh, look,” she said innocently. “Spring has sprung.”
Talk about cold. I swear, sometimes I don’t even know why I am friends with her.
Monday, May 5, Bio
So….
So what?
So did he ask you last night?????
Didn’t you hear?
Hear what?
Michael doesn’t believe in the prom. He thinks it’s lame.
NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Yes. Oh, Shameeka, what am I going to do? I’ve been dreaming of going to the prom with Michael my whole life, practically. Well, at least since we started dating, anyway. I want everyone to look at us dancing and know once and for all that I am the property of Michael Moscovitz. Even though I know that’s sexist and no one can ever be the property of another human being. Except… except I so want to be Michael’s property!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I hear you. So what are you going to do?
