Restaurant where I worked had a semi-open kitchen, cold station with a direct line of sight to one of the many TVs. There was an important soccer match* Mexico vs ~whomever and Rigo the salad cook was pumped to the point of hysteria. Rigo's home team scores a goal and he rips off his food-service gloves, he was mixing coleslaw, and almost faints with joy. Seems he ripped off and threw down the gloves, so he could clap, with no thought to where they landed as 20-minutes later a server comes into the kitchen with an odd expression and asks me to speak to a table about a mishap. Somehow a clear glove ended up in their portion of slaw.
Mom, dad, two youngish kids, I was expecting the worst, Lincoln Park parents often skew twitchy, turns out the family was on vacation and had just seen the show at the Apollo Theater down the block. They were a sweet unassuming family of the type that makes up small town America and both worked food-service in their well-spent youth.
I chatted with them, comped the drinks/meal, made giant off-menu ice cream sundays for the kids, the servers lavished attention on the kids, all the while they kept saying it was unnecessary and mistakes happen. The more they demurred the more we piled on attention.
They left smiling, happy, saying it was their best restaurant experience in memory. The only unhappy one was Rigo as he was immediately put on the pot sink and given the nickname Michael Jackson.
*Ridiculous, I know, but it flows the story line