This morning greeted me with a creamer explosion. I'm not talking about those little "baby creams" in white containers that you stick into coffees. I'm talking about the Tim Hortons "mama cream" bags that fill the creamer machines. Each one creamifies the coffees of what, say, a hundred or so customers.
At least it didn't explode on me. I was busy doing something else when I heard an ominous splooshing noise. I looked over just in time to see the white eruption on Debbie.
Now, you understand that we have minor cream crises at Timmy's on a fairly regular basis. Most aren't overly dramatic, so when I saw the flood of cream, I thought, "Oh, Debbie will stop it. She's already got her hand on the bag. She can handle it."
Then I thought, "Well, she should be stopping it by now. It's getting messy."
The customers all watched goggle-eyed as Debbie wrestled with the torrent of cream. Brenda and I continued with our business, fully confident in Debbie's ability.
"Um, I need a bucket, please!" spluttered Debbie from beneath the geyser with just a hint of panic in her voice. It was at that point that I realized she wasn't winning. I stopped stirring coffees and went into the back room, picked up the bucket we mix ice caps in and came back. There was no where to step. The cream covered so much floor it looked like an ice rink. So I slip-slided across to Debbie and tried to figure out how to catch the rest of the cream from the still gurgling bag. Debbie stopped floundering around, picked up the mama cream in its metal box thing, and stuck the tip of it in the bucket. None of the customers said anything.
"Well, what a way to start the morning!" I said in hopes of keeping Debbie from getting upset. She laughed and slip-slided out into the back room, leaving a trail of white footprints all the way.
Still none of the customers said anything but just watched her glide out in cream-covered glory.
Then I ran out of cream in the second cream machine. That means that there was cream quite literally everywhere except in the cream dispensers. Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink. I mean, talk about a white Christmas all you want, but this was overkill. Debbie was too scared to replace any of the empty mama creams for all the rest of the shift.
You should have seen the mop bucket after we were finally done cleaning that up (four hours later). I guess it's disasters like these that keep work interesting.
Speaking of over-doing things:
Wadsworth: Well, he's certainly dead now. Why would anyone want to kill him twice?
Miss Scarlet: It seems so unnecessary.
Colonel Mustard: It's what we call "overkill."