It’s 9pm and about 40 people just walked in the door. I’m one of three servers, but the front staircase disappeared about five minutes ago and the left wing of the building just turned into my elementary school, not to mention the kitchen is going up in flames—literally—and, of course, I’m in the weeds.
Before I can finish taking one table’s drink order, my other table, seated about 75 yards away in Mrs. Mushrush’s classroom, is clamoring for their steaks, and with ticket times running a solid hour and a half, all are bound to be overcooked. Now people are walking out on their checks and my left clog is missing. I’m contemplating walking out myself, when suddenly a loud buzzing noise cuts through the dinner din, and I wrench myself into an upright position.
Never have I been so glad to hear my alarm clock.
It was another “server dream,” commandeering the few hours of rest I’ve earned and turning them into a full eight-hour shift, all while I slept. The thought of tying on an apron and fitting my swollen feet into my Danskos seems unfair, but at least I’ll actually leave my next shift with a wad of cash to show for it.
Such dreams are common to workers in industries where there's a lot of stress, so I wondered if chefs fall prey to the same sort of dream torture, and found that the Restaurant Intelligence Agency had already posed this question to several Chicago chefs. Fortunately for most of them, their dreams skew towards the creative, rather than the nightmarish. Here’s what they had to say: