Waitress Rant: A run-in with a walk-in freezer

Waitress Rant is a blog in which I document the daunting tasks of “walking in a straight line” and “not dropping things” at a semi-offensively-entitled-restaurant. I’m hoping this’ll be about 60% complaining (humorously, of course), 25% wisdom and 15% helpful-tips-on-how-to-be-a-shy-klutz-and-a-waitress. 

Based on last week’s post, many of you may have come to the conclusion that I form unhealthy attachments to fictional characters and/or storylines (i.e. Sam/Hilary Duff in A Cinderella Story)… and if you haven’t come to that conclusion, this is me officially telling you to get with the program.

The cold and terrifying door I was trapped behind.

The cold and terrifying door I was trapped behind.

I’m usually able to justify this unhealthy obsession with my English-major-ways (“This is how we’re supposed to act, am I right?”). But the world of fantasy that I sometimes find myself in—via movies or books—was truly put to the test this week whilst I was, you guessed it, waitressing.

Thus begins my personal segment of True Life entitled: True Life: I-was-trapped-in-a-walk-in-freezer-at-Cuban-Revolution-Restaurant-and-Bar. Okay, this is only half a lie. Technically, I wasn’t trapped in the freezer, but, at the time, I believed I was. Also, one could say I was metaphorically trapped by my glorious imagination… but that would be pretentious, wouldn’t it?

So, I was sent on a mission by Guevara himself (JK, but can we make this a code name for my manager…? Maybe…?) to locate frozen vegetables in the walk-in freezer. Little did I know, those frozen baby carrots would be the near-death of me. I entered the freezer, located the ginormous bag of frozen vegetables and was on my journey back to the kitchen when I realized the freezer door had closed behind me—and (*insert eery sound here*)... there was no door handle.

Naturally, my mind did what it does best and tapped into a plethora of fictional-story-knowledge to predict the probable outcome of my predicament. This is when I came to the extremely logical conclusion that I was going to freeze to death.


I imagined myself being found, the next morning, looking much-like Jack Nicholson at the end of The Shining:

Screenshot by Sameet Dhillon/Gavel Media

I sincerely hope I'd be a better-looking frozen person than Nicholson.

I had visions of myself defrosting raw vegetables and chicken with pure body heat (desperate times, ya feel...) I was in the midst of imagining myself as Pam, from Texas Chainsaw Massacre, which is a natural and completely sane parallel because she was also stuck in a freezer, when I noticed the glaring sign on the door that read, “you’re not locked in!” 

Well, this is awkward. Photo taken by Sameet Dhillon

Well, this is awkward.
Photo taken by Sameet Dhillon

I was merely a shoulder push away from freedom. Dissapointingly, the only evidence I had for my tramatic experience was goose-bumps and a huge reminder of my overactive imagination.

But I did walk away with an interesting lesson. One that I had heard many times over, but it took getting “trapped” in a freezer to understand—life doesn’t usually work out like the movies, or your favorite book. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing. And, hey, that doesn’t mean it can't be just as interesting or terrifying. Oh, and... be sure to read bright yellow signs. They're usually pretty important.

Also (in other news), sadly, my hair doesn’t look good in a high ponytail. Damn you, cute-waitress-Hilary Duff!

 As we say at Cuban Revolution (Restaurant & Bar), “Viva la revolución!” Or maybe, in my case, “Viva la rant!”