Life with Landry's: Out of the Holding Tank, Into the Kitchen

The 2 weeks since I've last written in here has been a shitstorm. I could go into the grueling hours, endless mental juggling, and long nights I've spent working at Landry's.

But that's not what I thought about writing today.

Just something simple.

I was the closer tonight and had checked everyone out. As closer, naturally I would only be followed by the managers as the last person out the restaurant. So there I sat, waiting at the bar for Paul the manager to finish and unlock the doors to freedom. 11:00 dragged by. 11:15 inched its way onto the digital clock. 11:30...

Something caught my eye. The lobster tank, a fews days before occupied by only 3 lobsters, was now loaded with the grimy-colored shellfish. And jousting back and forth with useless rubber-banded claws were two fairly large lobsters, although the one that was kicking ass was clearly much larger than the other one.

Back and forth, they charged each other. The smaller guy was losing ground. He hesitated. The larger lobster saw his advantage and pressed it like an iron to a button-up shirt. Did I really just say that? I really need a day off. I've been working every day since training, even weekends.

Anyway, Junior gave way to Big Claw Bob, and the chase was on. Unable to push his opponent back, he scuttled backwards frantically, running over about 5 other smaller lobsters as he tried to escape Bob. The trampled lobsters lazily lifted their claws in half-hearted protest.

Meanwhile, I watched all this with some kind of sadistic primal fascination. It sure wasn't on par with anything on Discovery Channel, but whatever. It beat the hell out of standing around.

Junior's troubles were far from over. Big Claw Bob's buddy, Larry the Lobster, joined in the chase. Larry was in between Junior and Bob's size, but with Bob hot on his tracks, all Junior could do was try to avoid them both. I stared, mesmerized, as Bob cornered Junior from one side and Larry blocked an escape at Junior's right flank. Inevitability had sunk in.

Junior, realizing his pocket aces were no good against a full house, did a scuttling about-face and desperately tried to scale the glass wall of the holding tank that was his prison. Futile. Checkmate. Bob and Larry lobster-jumped Junior, pounding their rubber-banded claws on his grimy exoskeleton with the wild glee of a schoolyard bully. Every terrified move Junior made to try and escape screamed, "Help me! Someone, please! I don't want to be here! Let me out! Save me!"

"Time to go," said Paul.

Shaking myself away from the spectacle I had just witnessed, I let myself out of the restaurant and said good-bye to Paul for the night. It was 11:40.

As I walked to my Escape, I was gripped with a tickling thought: If Junior thought the world he lived in was hard and shitty, he had no idea what awaited him in the world outside the holding tank.

But I knew.

It was a world that had no pity for his clashes with Bob and Larry. First, he would be shown to a table of people for inspection and approval. Being the right type, he would be taken to the kitchen, confused and dazed. Then, just as he came to terms with his new environment, he would be flipped onto the back of his shell, then cut vertically with a knife from his tail to his mouth as his flippers flailed uselessly. His muzzled claws would be broken mercilessly with a sickening crunch. The rubber bands would be taken off, only for Junior to find his nerve endings controlling his claws were severed completely by the crack. If he was unlucky enough to still be alive by this point, his misery would find peace at the bottom of a pot of boiling water. Junior's tail, the only desirable part of him, would eventually be devoured by some hungry person, and the rest of his sad red carcass would be thrown away with the rest of the day's garbage.

I wondered, what kind of a holding tank was I in? And what kind of kitchen awaited me if things should somehow get worse?

I laughed and started playing "Learn to Fly" off my Foo Fighters CD. It had been a long day.