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“Hi, Bill,” I say to my boss as I walk past him to the small employee room. I take off my jacket and realize I forgot my running shoes at home. Susy, my coworker, walks in a minute later. “Let’s hope we get customers on a day like today.”
“I sure hope so. I’m here until eight.” I sigh.
She shakes her head. “When I leave at five, my legs are broken, and I need a warm bath for a good hour before I feel human.”
“I’m used to the long shifts.” I shrug. What I’ve learned is complaining just makes the job feel that much worse. I try to look at the positive side. This job comes with a medical insurance plan I can afford, which is rare in the restaurant industry. Having medical insurance is super important when you have a kid. The pain in my legs is just a nuisance I need to overlook.
Susy and I head out to the main floor of the diner. The morning starts slow, but by lunchtime, we get a good crowd. The snow is falling hard outside, so everyone who walks in is bringing a nice chunk of snow on their shoes and clothes.
The floor is sopping wet. Plus, our assistant chef called in sick, which means Bill, the owner, is covering in the kitchen.
I serve some of my regulars when Susy walks up to me. “I’m not feeling well.” She looks green, then runs off to the bathroom.
Oh shit.
Things start to get really hectic as I have to take over her tables too. I’m rushing to get orders in. There isn’t anyone to help fill the drink orders either since that is usually Bill’s job. I find myself having to run behind the counter to fill the pop glasses with drinks and take them over to the tables. Then we get a table of ten businessmen.
I’m going to lose my shit.
“Bill, please call Jana or Meagan. I can’t do this myself,” I plead with him. I have sweat running down my forehead, and my armpits are wet. Plus wearing clunky boots for a shift is the worst thing because they make my feet feel heavier.
“I keep trying both of them. No one’s answering,” he says, looking sympathetic.
He comes out of the kitchen and heads over to the table with the businessmen to take their drink order.
More people wait in line at the door.
I want to scream at the top of my lungs or maybe run away, but I don’t have much choice. I take a deep breath.This is fine.
I head over to the kitchen area to pick up some orders to deliver to a table when my foot slides. I jerk forward, but then I lose my balance. Still, I haven’t lost hold of the plates of food. I take a quick breath as my jilted movements happen in slow motion. I lose my balance once more and fall back on my heel. Plates of food come crashing down, the loud clatter of glass hitting the floor. I yelp so loud from the pain cutting through my ankle as my eyes squeeze shut. I quickly try to adjust myself so I’m not sitting on my ankle, and when I open my eyes, it feels like everyone in the diner watches me with startled stares. I slowly move to my knees, placing my hands on the floor. I feel them being cut by small pieces of glass and wince. And then I fall back down on my butt.
The pain is intense.
“I should call 911,” Bill says.
“I don’t want to have to pay for EMS,” I tell him.
“Workers’ compensation will cover this,,” he says, looking worried.
He tries to lift me by holding me under my armpits. I’m able to stand, but my ankle is throbbing. He places me on one of the stools at the little bar facing the cash register.
“I would offer to drive you, but I can’t leave this place now,” he says, and he’s sweating too. Bill is a good man with a wife and kids. He works hard.
“It’s fine,” I assure, and I try to step on my foot. I howl. “I think it’s broken,” I say, holding my leg in the air. “I’ll call an Uber.”
I don’t want the EMS to come and disrupt the entire diner. I’m in pain, but it isn’t life threatening.
Susy walks up to me, holding her jacket over her face. “I’m so sorry. I must have a stomach bug.”
“Go home, Susy. Feel better soon,” Bill says. He wants her out of here fast, and I don’t blame him. I don’t want to risk getting sick either.
“I need my coat and my purse,” I say to Bill.
While he heads to the employee room, I call the Uber. I know I can call Patty and she’ll leave work, but I don’t want to disrupt her day. She still needs to get Crew from school in an hour.
Bill rushes back with my things, and when the Uber pulls up in front of the diner, he carries me and places me in the car. I feel terrible because he has a restaurant filled with hungry people waiting for their food. As the driver drives off, I breathe hard. My ankle throbs as we head over to the hospital.
The driver is nice enough to help me out of the car and into the hospital where a nurse retrieves a wheelchair for me. It’s a good hour before I am taken for an X-ray. A nurse is kind enough to give me some pain meds while I wait.
