hellboundliberal

Hello thank you for coming to F.Scott's my name is Shelby. Today's special is braised back stab served atop creamy mashed douchebag. Bon Apetit!

AHHH!

Ok where to start. My job has become a big sack of drama nesseled in a box of lies and confusion. i want to cook and fuck around a bit... dealing with all this shit is not in my job description.

Last friday right when i got to work Chef (let's call him Chef III) asked to talk to me... in the private dining room. after setting up my station and putting a pot on to blanche asparagus. i took a slow trek up to the private room.

My head was pounding trying to go through all the shit that i did and said. Oh god somehow he found out about all the things that i said about him.

I spoke up "If you're going to yell at me i'd like to have my last cigarette before the firing squad."

He assured me that i wouldn't be terminated and my spiked toungue would go unpunished for another day. I was relieved this sit down wasn't about me.

The meeting was about the state of the kitchen more so about the sous-chef. The sous chef had been positioning himself for the position of Chef de Cuisine prior to Chef III's arrival. Needless to say "sous" was bitter and resentful. His hard work had gone unnoticed and unrewarded.

I had worked with "sous" longer and considered him a friend. However unprofessional, our overt bitching was innevitable. "I cant believe he forgot to order baby greens... what a cunt." Et cetera, et cetera.

I explained to Chef III that basically he was the new fish and that he might want to work the line and become one of us. He wasn't thilled to hear my suggestion but i said i'd be a great way to earn that respect he desparatly needed.

And that anything that i "allegedly" said should not be taken serioulsy because i bitch about everyone. Again he assured me that i had made my bones in the kitchen and was a key part of the crew.

With nothing left to say i returned to my station and prepared for the day. Baking foccaccia, making pizza dough, and other tasks associated with being a prep drone.

Line up rolled around and this meant a cherished ritual for cooks Cigarette-thirty. The calm before the storm when we can go out on the balcony and smoke. I was excited it was a fellow cooks last day (let's call him X) and i was looking forward to bitching and bullshittin one last time.

X was leaving F.Scott's due to a percieved lack of respect and due pay. When i joined him he seemed rather secretive speaking to another crew member.

After an awkward silence i said "We're among friendly ears... what the fuck's up?" He went off on "sous" basically calling him a liar and not fit to be a manager. I was shocked... because he had been accomplice to our previous bitch sessions, and stated prior that Chef III was a key ingerdient in his departure. Not the case today.

My shift ended without furthur incident. Pretty much...stuff that happened is too boring to write about.

Saturday rolled around and we were too busy to think. Sunday brunch we were half dead from the night before and not even the dreaded "liquid cocaine" (a big gulp full of espresso) could revive us. Monday... nothing was said. I was fondly imagining the amounts of nothing i would do on my weekend.

Tuesday at around 12 i was woken by Quincy Jones "Sanford and Son" my cell was going off. It was Chef III. Fuck 'em if he thinks i'm coming in. around fifteen minutes later my brown brother Solomon called. I let him leave a message.

Around 1:30 i rolled out of bed. Lit a cigarette and checked my messages. Something was rotten in denmark... ChefIII was monotone and Solomon, through broken english, had informed me something was muy malo.

First i called Chef with great sorrow he said Sous was let go. Ok...click. Then i called solomon to get the dirt... sous fired yeah yeah yeah. But suprise suprise! X had returned to work and was on the clock. I let Solomon go.

I was trying to make sense of it all... and after assuring an intern that all is well i would stick it out with him until he returns to C.I.A. (Culinary Institute of America) it clicked.

That sneaky fuck!

X had longed to be sous for quite some time. Sadly his food and additude was hit or miss. So seeing a problem he exploited it. First he bitched about Chef III when that was fruitless he took aim at sous. I'm speculating much of this... but it just makes sense to me.

Then i thought of all the nasty things i'm going to do to X if my suspicions are true. Like mineral oil in his drink and fish sauce in his air vents. For those of you who don't know mineral oil is a natural laxitive and fish sauce (suprisingly tasty when used properly) is a black liquid that comes from leaving fish out in the sun to rot. you can imagine how it smells.

Anyway, i've out run two chefs, a sous chef, a vast quantity of line cooks, dishwashers and a set of owners. I'll go on... and if i don't, i'll go down in flames and take them with me.

Cooks Rule!