It wasn’t the meth head or the murderer who ended up getting fired that night. God! She didn’t realize there would be this much drama associated with running a restaurant. She came from a professional background where people are trained in a certain way and take responsibility for their jobs.
Her latest cook’s education had been in the county prison system where he learned his art. He wasn’t half bad, but he was difficult. He over cooked the beans, and continued to dip his fingers in the cooking pots for a taste, not using a tasting spoon as he had been directed to do numerous times. Although he could prepare many standard American recipes, he lacked the vision of a well educated chef with some world experience. She didn’t know which of the seven dwarfs he was, but Dopey seemed like a good choice.
Some of the plates that came out of the kitchen were not fit to sell. He made a plate of nachos that was drowning in a thin cheese sauce with no sides. She wouldn’t have eaten it herself, but she wouldn’t send it back either. She would have paid her bill and never returned. She had the feeling that this was happening all over town. That’s why her business was down.
She wanted her restaurant to have a stellar reputation and this guy wasn’t cutting it. Her nachos should be like something out of a magazine: crisp chips piled high on a plate with creamy thick spicy cheese sauce accompanied by chopped olives, green onions, fresh pico de gallo, and sour cream. She needed someone who could perform to her specifications.
The murderer was a better cook, but how could you trust him? He had actually kicked someone to death once and served seven years for it. He was a player and had lots of game and lots of vision, but she couldn’t trust him either. He kept asking for his check in cash and tried to run a game on her a couple of times insisting that she hadn’t paid him.
When she produced the signed receipts, he just laughed it off and said, “Well, you can’t blame a guy for trying.” And then he added, “You know if Jack isn’t around sometime, I could make you very happy.” (Ha! Like that would ever happen.)
The meth head was a fabulous chef. They shared the same vision for the menu. He had great ideas that served to inspire her as well. They had many late night phone calls working out all the details. He had his own troubles regarding dependency and a home life that was like three train wrecks with former wives wanting child support, a current wife addicted to pain meds, and a passel of kids from each. None of his women cared to work and this put a lot of pressure on the poor man who was trying to do the best he could.
Then there was the bar tramp who loved cooking, had a true knack for it, but wanted to run everything. She wanted to cook, bar tend, and waitress because she wanted all the money. She had problems with other staff members and she also tried to fuck every guy who came into the bar. It made the the guys uncomfortable, and they stopped coming in when she was on the schedule. She quit one busy day in the middle of her shift over an argument about a roasted chicken.
Dopey raised the knife at her and then threatened, “I need a slave! You don’t understand! I can’t do it all!”
She didn’t know why she even began arguing with him, “Well, you’ve got a dishwasher…” she began.
He raised his voice louder and waved the knife around, “I need a slave!” He pointed the knife at her, “I’m not going to quit, so what are you gonna do? Why don’t you fire me?” He waved the knife one more time in her direction.
“OK,'” she said calmly eyeing the knife, “You’re fired.” She really hated firing people.
“Ha! Ha! Ha! Now you have to pay me!”
She went to her check book and cut him a check. “Here you go. Thank you for your service.”
“Humph!” he snuffed at her as he threw off his apron and went directly to the liquor store to get a bottle and cash his check. Then he took the rest of the money to the corner dealer to buy party favors (weed, speed, and vicodin) for his girlfriend.
The next day he was apologetic and asking for his job back. “Let’s just leave it as it is,” she said with some compassion. She couldn’t help but care for these people who were living life in the margins.
(First published 9/19/12)
