Don’t Forget to Close the Lid

There’s a pattern to how I carry out my duties at work. First, pick up the phone and take the order. Second, pack the order. Third, ring up the customer and hand over the food they had ordered over the phone. It is a well-oiled machine. Yet, when a gear gets loose, the whole machine collapses.

I was that loose gear.

“Wait, where’s James?” I threw the question frantically in the general direction of the kitchen, hoping someone would have an answer.

“James? I packed James.” My coworker replied, her voice filled with certainty, and my stomach filled with dread. I looked back at the front counter, understanding the depth of what I had just done.

“I think I gave it to the wrong customer,” I admitted reluctantly. Not more than twenty minutes ago, a customer had walked in and paid for his order. I carelessly didn’t check which food package I was handing over, and the order for James ended up going home with someone else. My coworker sighed and peered back at the order rack filled with yellow receipts. While there wasn’t a biting edge to her sigh, I understood the weight behind it. It was a Friday night. We were busy. My mistake would set us back even further, as the cook would have to remake the food I had mistakenly given away. My coworker turned back to the kitchen to give the cook a new set of instructions, while I walked back to the front counter, explaining the situation to the waiting customer.

“I’m so sorry about this. Please give us about ten minutes.”

Heat crept up my neck. I felt incompetent, despite being only fourteen years old working my first job. It was less of me making the mistake, and more of how it would look for the restaurant. My boss is a family friend. My best friend is her daughter. Any mistakes I made would be a reflection of a business they’ve worked so hard to build up from the ground.

It felt more than just a tiny slip-up.

Rushing back to the kitchen, I attempted to rectify my mistake by preparing the appetizers.

“Nhi, what’s wrong?” the cook asked.

“I gave an order to the wrong customer,” I answered back, not being able to look at him—who I considered my second family—in the eyes.

It was a dance, the way we all moved in coordination with each other, trying to survive the dinner rush. One by one, dishes get made. One by one, orders get filled. It was the eight-minute mark when I finished packing James’ order. Despite not wanting to face my mistake the second time, I steeled myself and walked out to the front counter with the (correct) package of food.

“I’m so sorry again for the delay,” I said with an apologetic smile.

“You’re all good,” the customer replied, and relief washed over me. A weight lifted off my shoulders when the small hitch no longer derailed the night. Yet, the guilt still lingered.

“It’s okay,” my coworker said, rubbing my back as I mopped the floor. She could tell from my furrowed brow that I was lost in thought about the situation that occurred an hour ago.

“I just feel really bad.”

“I know. But hey, everyone got their food in the end, right?” We both chuckled and finished cleaning up for the night.

What frustrated me more was it wasn’t the first mistake I made as an employee. Despite only working for a few weeks, I had a mental list of errors that made my eyes cast to the ground in shame. From leaving the lid open on the blender while it was on to almost burning the appetizers, sometimes I question if I was cut out for the food industry.

That incident was over three years ago, and such a question no longer plagues my mind. I didn’t stop making mistakes over the years, but I have learned to take them in stride and not to repeat them. The slip-ups I made at fourteen years old trained me to be more conscientious of my actions at seventeen, whether that is in the form of double-checking an order before it goes to the kitchen, while I’m packing, or when I’m delivering. People make mistakes constantly. It is these types of flaws that make us truly human. In a way, I’m glad that I’ve made mistakes at my job. The lessons I’ve garnered from them are ones that I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

“Nhi did you—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I closed the lid this time.”

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Photo by Pawel Janiak on Unsplash