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More food nostalgia: mid 2000’s Eaton’s Centre South Food Court had a Harvey’s, and the lunch shift manager helmed the cash register and took absolutely no shit from anyone, you had to have your order and money ready and god save you if you didn’t
I swear he was like seven feet tall, always glowering at us scurrying office workers and treated us with the contempt we deserved. I don’t ever remember him being mean to his team of employees, but a glare from him would make your blood run cold
If you quickly caught on to his expectations of you, all was well. You don’t cause him problems or disrupt the rhythm, you get your food in under a minute. Perhaps even a “you’re welcome” when you said thank you. Regulars such as myself understood, respected, and honoured this.
But also as regulars you could tell when shit was about to go down. It was usually upper management types, out for a lark at the food court instead of eating at sit down restaurant, jiggling their keys in their business trouser pockets and standing side by side in line
They never had their order ready. They’d be telling each other jokes until they got in front of the cash and then take a step back, balancing on one shiny loafered foot as they glanced at the menu, chin up, eyes half closed, a single “ummmmmm..” humming from them
The incandescent rage you could feel emanating from the Harvey’s manager is what I imagine standing at the open mouth of an active volcano is like. He’d stand there, eyes blazing, furious he had to ask twice: “You ordering, or what?!”
Not even these self impressed sales managers or VPs could ignore the underlying threat. Some primitive part of their brains flashed that they were in imminent danger. They’d splutter an order, pay, then look at each other and say, in a patronizing way, “yikes.”
(More than once I was terrified to discover my superiors in line behind me, doing this very thing, and would try to hide so they wouldn’t recognize me and tie me to their sins. Once one of them called out to me but I pretended I didn’t hear him as I ran into the crowd)
The thing they didn’t understand, but us underlings and the harvey’s manager understood deeply, was this: most of us were on a ticking clock. We had to eat, get errands done, go the washroom, maybe have a cry, in a hour, but usually much less. Every second counted to all of us.
When they were musing and mulling over their options, they weren’t just taking their time, they were taking -our- time, the brief bit of respite and freedom afforded to us.
The Harvey’s manager was the lone man against them. He drew the line in the sand. He did what we couldn’t.
The Harvey’s manager was the lone man against them. He drew the line in the sand. He did what we couldn’t.
It’s been over a decade since I last recited my order to that man, and the Harvey’s and the food court is long gone, renovated into some bland soulless thing that I’m sure was deemed more upscale and welcoming.
But it will never have the solidarity.
But it will never have the solidarity.
