Rules at the Restaurant

Hector arrived in Boston from Guadalajara in October. Two weeks later, he got a job at Marco's, a busy Italian restaurant near the station. On his first day, the manager, Linda, gave him a black apron and a list of rules.

"You have to wear black: black shirt, black pants, black shoes. You have to arrive fifteen minutes before your shift. And you must wash your hands every time you come into the kitchen. Every time, Hector."

"You mustn't use your phone in the restaurant. Not in the kitchen, not at the tables, not in the restroom. If your phone rings, the customers hear it. And you mustn't sit down during the service. Never."

"What about food?" asked Hector. "You don't have to bring food," said Linda. "The staff eat here at four o'clock, before we open. And you don't have to pay for coffee. But you have to wash your own cup."

The first evening was crazy. Hector carried plates, took orders, dropped a fork and learned the names of eleven pasta dishes. He washed his hands about forty times. At nine o'clock, his feet hurt, but he was happy.

Then his phone vibrated in his pocket. It was his mother, calling from Mexico. He knew the rule. But it was his first day in a new country, and his mother was worried. He went into the kitchen and answered it. "Mama, I can't talk, I'm working."

Linda was behind him. Hector went white. She took the phone from his hand. "Hello, this is Linda, Hector's manager," she said, slowly and clearly. "Hector is fine. He's a good waiter. He'll call you at eleven." Then she gave the phone back. "One mistake, one warning," she said. "Now go. Table six wants the check."