Missoula News

Column: Missoula's Dish

The Silence of Breaking Glass

By Danielle Lattuga, 10-11-07

Pieces of a shattered pint glass are strewn across the acid-stained concrete bar. For a moment, I am skiing on the edge of Swiftcurrent Lake, watching small chunks of ice broken loose from my skis glide across the glacial green frozen surface. That moment is the moment following the sound of breaking glass, the sudden gasping lull in conversation and motion that inevitably follows when something is dropped, toppled, or on the rare occasion, thrown; and broken. The robust chunks of glass catch and hold light.  They are tangible, visible, and easily collected before they slice through fingers or hands.  There will be no blood from this shattering.

Plates break differently, popping, with a flat, tinny sound.  Sometimes they are tree branches cracking in wind.  Crystal wine glasses sing when they tip, bounce, and finally explode.  They also send fine shards into crevices previously unnoticed.  Coffee mugs prefer to fracture, and split, opening like the earth in a quake and flooding the counter and the apron (or lap) with the Double Americano, the Hot Chocolate, Sweet Masala Chai, or Vanilla Steamer—blisters on your thighs, a stain in an embarrassing location. 

But no matter the form of breaking glass, one thing is certain:  It will change the shape of chaos, and a few fleeting sympathetic looks will find their way in the direction from which it came. “Sir, I am so sorry.” Enter: the dishwasher, with a broom and dustpan in his green-gloved hands. “Oh honey, it’s okay.” Someone blushes.  This may be a turning point in the evening.  Typically for worse, but hey, why not for better?

What if dropping a tray of glasses provoked a standing ovation?  (There would still be some blushing going on). What if the sound of breaking glass made people shout good things?  Crash!  A young man in a blue tie stands and shouts, “I love you.” Bam!  A stern looking gray haired woman jumps to her feet and shouts, “I think you’re beautiful.” Boom! A ten-year-old girl wearing leg warmers climbs up on her chair and shouts, “I am going to change the world!” I know that’s absurd.  But I wonder, when and how did we get so uptight about klutziness or the occasional accident?  Granted, I understand that dumping a glass of red wine on a woman in a white linen dress could be slightly awkward and furiously humiliating for both parties involved, but what if it just prompted everyone to bathe in wine and dye their clothes the color of lust, earth, and blood? Like the Romans. Like Gods and Goddesses. 

I suppose that I just find the communal gasp, at times, slightly melodramatic.  In ancient times, every celebration had a jester. The jester was there to keep things light, to point out our absurdities, to maintain perspective.  And I know, people gasp for different reasons, scalding hot liquid on your belly, white wine sliding coolly down your back, the sound of shattering glass is startling and means potential injury.  You might have to faint at the sight of blood, just like my classmate in nursery school, Denise Williams.  But I have to say, more often than not, the breaking glass is only that.  And people emerge relatively unharmed.  Someone might have to be hungry a little longer, while the kitchen prepares a new plate to replace the one on the floor in the center of the dining room. Accidents happen.  Why can’t we laugh, as the jester intended? 

There was a night when I stood behind a counter, waiting for guests to arrive at a private party.  Glassware was stored under the counter, next to my knees.  The doors opened.  The first of the guests arrived and Pop!  A glass shattered on the shelf, exploding spontaneously.  It was one hell of a party.  Of course, I was blamed for it and every other spontaneous explosion after that. I didn’t really mind, since it implied some skill in magic. 

But it made me realize something. Sometimes the breaking of glass serves a purpose beyond the obvious.  Perhaps the energy in the room becomes so powerful that something has to give.  Perhaps someone needs to be stopped mid-sentence before they say something they might regret.  Perhaps someone is working so hard that they forget to slow down and be there.  Just be here.  Perhaps someone needs an opportunity to exhibit grace and professionalism. 

I do not wish to downplay the occasions in which someone is cut or covered in food or wine.  These occasions warrant a sincere apology and an exhibition of efficiency, finely balanced with the appropriate reaction.  That’s just it though.  Accidents such as these, in which no long-term harm is inflicted only require a brief pause, a tiny silence, in which we return to the present. As a server, you apologize confidently, act immediately, clean up and tend to your customer’s needs.  You don’t let it govern the rest of the meal. 

As a customer, you recognize that servers are not superheroes (unless you see them snatch a wine glass out of mid air without spilling a drop), you clearly express your needs and you don’t let it govern the rest of the meal. 

When you drop someone’s meal, you make sure that your able chefs will work as quickly as possible to replace it with whatever your customer wants.  Sometimes they might want something that takes less preparation time.  It’s your job to find out and assure them that you are doing the best you can to “fix it.” If they want what they ordered, you make sure they get it, and you bring them something to snack on in between.  It’s a gesture.  You do what is sincere and what you sense is right.  You don’t force anything.  You don’t fill the waiting time by doting or hovering uncomfortably.

When someone drops your meal, you are allowed to be bummed, but you are not allowed to be rude, because chances are, the person who dropped it is already embarrassed, and trying to figure out how to make it better. 

Maybe it’s about acknowledging the jester in each of us, as much as it is about embracing our ability to show integrity.  Maybe it’s about the beauty of imperfection—in us, in glass, in the silence after crashing.

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