Read Online The Arithmetic of Life and Death by George Shaffner - Free Book Online
Authors: George Shaffner
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Italian restaurant on his way home. Located near the Museum of Flight, it was called the Mayfly. The owner, it turned out, was a confirmed bachelor, an entrepreneur, and a gourmet chef. In addition, he was an aspiring industrial engineer who had determined that, at eight minutes per guest, he could personally manage up to fifteen concurrent diners at an average of two hours per meal. Since fifteen customers were more than he expected to serve in the Mayfly’s early days, the restaurateur had decided to work as he lived—alone.
The moment that Joe Bob entered the Mayfly, the proprietor greeted him cordially at the door, seated him, and handed him a menu. He returned with a glass of water a few minutes later, but Joe Bob was not yet ready to place an order. Shortly thereafter, the owner returned to the table for a second time and Joe Bob selected the veal special.
While the restaurateur was making Joe Bob’s Caesar salad, a nice young couple entered the restaurant. After pausing to thank the saints for so much luck on his first day, the restaurant owner stopped making the salad, washed his hands, and then went out front to greet the new arrivals. He then seated them at a table for two by the window andreturned to the kitchen to get them each a glass of ice water. When he came back to their table, however, they weren’t quite ready to order. So he stopped by Joe Bob’s table to apologize for the slight delay, then returned to the kitchen to finish Joe Bob’s salad. But, just as he was pouring the dressing, the man at the window called into the kitchen wanting to place the couple’s order. So the restaurant owner rushed out of the kitchen with the Caesar salad, dropped it off at Joe Bob’s table, then sprinted over to the window to serve the couple.
Just then, a family of five, including a small child, appeared at the front of the restaurant. So the sole proprietor finished taking the couple’s order and hurried up front to meet the family of five. As he was seating them, Joe Bob asked for some bread and the couple by the window asked to see the wine list. Meanwhile, the father of the family of five requested a high chair and three children’s menus.
While the proprietor was running for the children’s menus, the wine list, the bread, and the high chair, four stevedores from the docks at Alki entered the restaurant looking hungry, thirsty, and large. The restaurateur, who had read neither “Streaks and the Law of Averages” ( chapter 27 ) nor “Why More Things Go Wrong” ( afterword ), was caught off guard. But, being a man of action, he ran to the front of the store to greet the stevedores, who had been examining the beer list while they waited.
As soon as the four stevedores were seated, they asked for eight different microbrews and extra glasses so they could all share. At the same time, Joe Bob asked for his tea, which had not been delivered, and for his veal scallopini, which had not been started. Meanwhile, the couple asked for their bread and minestrone, and the father ofthe family of five asked for water for the children and a medium-priced Chianti for himself and his wife, and a plate of antipasto for the family to munch on while they waited.
At that moment, there were twelve guests in the Mayfly, which was only 80 percent of opening day capacity. It had been open for thirty minutes, which was just 2.5 minutes per guest and less than 30 percent of the carefully modeled eight minutes forecast. Yet, the restaurateur’s single-server model had completely broken down. In a panic, he retreated to the kitchen to try to figure out what to do. Just as he was beginning to revise his service model to accommodate the chaotic arrival of multiple, mutually exclusive requests, a busload of tourists from the south side of Chicago squeezed into the front of the restaurant.
At that moment, Joe Bob, the couple, and the family of five got up and left, never to return. No one knows what happened to the proprietor, who
The moment that Joe Bob entered the Mayfly, the proprietor greeted him cordially at the door, seated him, and handed him a menu. He returned with a glass of water a few minutes later, but Joe Bob was not yet ready to place an order. Shortly thereafter, the owner returned to the table for a second time and Joe Bob selected the veal special.
While the restaurateur was making Joe Bob’s Caesar salad, a nice young couple entered the restaurant. After pausing to thank the saints for so much luck on his first day, the restaurant owner stopped making the salad, washed his hands, and then went out front to greet the new arrivals. He then seated them at a table for two by the window andreturned to the kitchen to get them each a glass of ice water. When he came back to their table, however, they weren’t quite ready to order. So he stopped by Joe Bob’s table to apologize for the slight delay, then returned to the kitchen to finish Joe Bob’s salad. But, just as he was pouring the dressing, the man at the window called into the kitchen wanting to place the couple’s order. So the restaurant owner rushed out of the kitchen with the Caesar salad, dropped it off at Joe Bob’s table, then sprinted over to the window to serve the couple.
Just then, a family of five, including a small child, appeared at the front of the restaurant. So the sole proprietor finished taking the couple’s order and hurried up front to meet the family of five. As he was seating them, Joe Bob asked for some bread and the couple by the window asked to see the wine list. Meanwhile, the father of the family of five requested a high chair and three children’s menus.
While the proprietor was running for the children’s menus, the wine list, the bread, and the high chair, four stevedores from the docks at Alki entered the restaurant looking hungry, thirsty, and large. The restaurateur, who had read neither “Streaks and the Law of Averages” ( chapter 27 ) nor “Why More Things Go Wrong” ( afterword ), was caught off guard. But, being a man of action, he ran to the front of the store to greet the stevedores, who had been examining the beer list while they waited.
As soon as the four stevedores were seated, they asked for eight different microbrews and extra glasses so they could all share. At the same time, Joe Bob asked for his tea, which had not been delivered, and for his veal scallopini, which had not been started. Meanwhile, the couple asked for their bread and minestrone, and the father ofthe family of five asked for water for the children and a medium-priced Chianti for himself and his wife, and a plate of antipasto for the family to munch on while they waited.
At that moment, there were twelve guests in the Mayfly, which was only 80 percent of opening day capacity. It had been open for thirty minutes, which was just 2.5 minutes per guest and less than 30 percent of the carefully modeled eight minutes forecast. Yet, the restaurateur’s single-server model had completely broken down. In a panic, he retreated to the kitchen to try to figure out what to do. Just as he was beginning to revise his service model to accommodate the chaotic arrival of multiple, mutually exclusive requests, a busload of tourists from the south side of Chicago squeezed into the front of the restaurant.
At that moment, Joe Bob, the couple, and the family of five got up and left, never to return. No one knows what happened to the proprietor, who
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