Severe Thunderstorm Warning
I was working at the Restaurant Monday night, fairly pleased, as it was mildly busy, and we had not been pooched quite as hard as I’d expected by the Health Inspector. Things were going well. I was standing up at the cash register, taking money, idly watching the weather through the picture windows at the front of the building. It was cloudy and gray.
I finished the cash transaction and glanced out the window again. In the space of a moment or two, it has gone from a vaguely fluffy-looking gray to a dark and thunderous slate gray. The wind had picked up, and I could see the trees across the street whipping back and forth. That’s fast, I thought, turning around to watch the TVs as I heard the emergency weather beep sounding from the screens. It was warning of severe thunderstorms. I turned back around. The skies were black, and the trees were bent nearly in half by the gale-force winds. In less than five minutes, it had gone from, “Eh, it’s going to rain.” to “Holy fucking shit! Take cover!”
I’ve been in the restaurant industry for a long time, and in management and supervisory positions for at least half of it. When I’m in charge, I make sure of a handful of things: first aid, fire response, and a power outage kit. I was never a Boy Scout, but I know the value of being prepared. Anything can happen at any time, and I want to be ready to handle whatever the Restaurant can throw at me. I know the Heimlich Maneuver. I know CPR. I know basic first aid. I can handle drunks, drug addicts, and crazy people. I know what to do during a robbery. I know how to handle kitchen fires. I know the Health Codes backwards and forwards. I know where to take the customers and employees in case of a tornado.
I know the most important thing of all: Don’t. Panic.
I took one look outside and decided it wasn’t tornado weather. Not quite. I saw the trees bending over backwards, and in one magnificent crash of lightening and thunder, the clouds opened up and rain shrieked down in blinding, driving sheets. Customers murmured worriedly behind me, and I said cheerfully, “Don’t worry. This building’s been here for forty years. It ain’t going anywhere now.” I reached under the cash counter and withdrew my power outage kit, held in a huge black purse. I unzipped it, and –
Every one of my damn flashlights was gone.
This is the fourth time this has happened to me.
The lights flickered a bit, but we didn’t lose power. We hardly ever do, because we’re on the same circuit as the local hospital. I cussed to myself, and watched the storm blow over in next to no time. It was an unbelievably fast and savage thunderstorm, full of brilliant arcs and forks of lightening. It was begun and over with in about twenty minutes.
After the wind and lightening had died down to safer levels, I went to the little store/pharmacy next door and bought more flashlights and batteries. I got back just in time to help out as the restaurant began to fill up with customers who had lost power. There were trees down everywhere, power lines down everywhere — it had been very bad out there. The girls and I ran like crazy. It lasted about an hour, and then our lights flickered . . . and half of the restaurant lost power. I waited a moment. Nothing came on. I shook my head. We were done for the night. This had happened before.
Once before, one of the transformers that powers our restaurant had gone partially down, and left the restaurant just like this, lights in the back dining room, dish tank, and over the counter, and no power anywhere else. The kitchen was down, all the computers, cold cases, and refrigerators were down. We were done.
I made the phone calls: Boss, Owner, morning cashiers who were going to get stuck cleaning up after us. We cleaned what we could with only a few lights and flashlights, and no hot water, and straightened the pile of dishes up as best we could. I did what I could with the till, which wasn’t much without running the computer reports, and we closed the place up and went home two hours early. Ah well, no biggie.
The next day, Mary called from the pay phone in the foyer, at about noon, to inform me that we still didn’t have power, and weren’t expected to have any until Thursday night. Over ten thousand in the city without power, and over 200,000 in Consumer Power’s service area without power. Holy shit. She told me that the Owner had a generator on the way, and could I come in and bring her coffee?
As it turned out, Mary and I ended up sitting in the hot, stuffy, stinky restaurant, alone, in the dark, until 9pm, on the Owner’s orders, waiting to see if the power would come back on. We watched as the electricians hooked us up to an enormous generator, to run the freezer and cooler, so we wouldn’t loose any more product. I privately figured that the humongous diesel monster could definitely run the whole restaurant, but wasn’t dumb enough to suggest that out loud. I did point out to Mary that waiting for the power after about 5pm was pointless, as the staff had been dismissed for the day, and had scattered to the four winds beyond recall. Besides, from the moment the power came back on, I figured we were looking at two or three hours of cleaning, reorganizing, restocking, and etc, before we could open the doors — and that was with the likely-unfindable staff to help us.
So we waited. We got Subways for dinner. We chatted. We chatted with our regular electrician, who popped in to check on us. A friend of Mary’s brought us pop and ice cream. We bitched and discussed books over chocolate brownie chunk ice cream, fanning ourselves with menus. Everything that could be done and/or cleaned without hot water, in the dark, had already been done long before. We took turns answering the pay phone — calls from the Owner — about every two hours. By the end, when it became clear to even his hope-deluded mind that the restaurant was not going to re-open that day, I swear, it almost sounded like he was going to cry. We finally got to leave at 8:30 or so.
I did get to prove, several times, that, despite what people have said about me, I can, in fact, find my ass with both hands and a flashlight. It’s really not as hard as you’d think.
I’d also like to point out that the Owner left the two least mechanically inclined people in the restaurant in charge of a $60,000 diesel monstrosity of a generator. We made the nice electrician people who installed it show us very carefully, several times, how to turn it off and on, and how and where to refuel it. We took notes. Great big, extremely clear notes, complete with diagrams and pictures, covering two place mats. We like to be sure. I wish I’d saved them.
We got power back this morning at 11am or so, and as I predicted, it took a full staff three hours to straighten the place out again before we could reopen. We opened the doors at 2pm, and proceeded to be pretty much dead for the rest of the day. It was a very long day, full of me having to tell the Tale of the Restaurant Power Outage over and over again to curious regulars.
I am so glad to be out of work, back home, and about to enjoy two days off. I am not answering the phone.
