“Cool,” I say, trying to contribute at least something to the banter as it flies back and forth. “I’vebeerwaiting for a drink all day.”
Oh crap.
Silence.
Why the hell did I try and be funny? I could have just nodded or stuck withcool. They’re going to think I’m an absolute jackass now. No, worse. They’ll think I’m an unfunny jackass!
“Good job, Seinfeld,” Lane chuckles. “Now get that booty in the shower. We’re meeting in the lobby in half an hour.”
And with that, I get up and make a speedy exit to the shower.
It’s time to wash away the grime from today’s work—and wash off the embarrassment from my terrible attempt at a joke too!
Right now, all I want to do is get this meal out of the way and get back to my room as quickly as I can. Lexi and I need a nice cuddle and a movie on my iPad. I did well at my job, but settling into a new crew isn’t easy, and maybe I’m discovering that I’m not quite as confident about my identity as I thought I was too…
Chapter 2
Olivier
You have to be fucking kidding me.
Not again.
Not another egotistical customer sending their plate back just to get an angry response from me? I should be used to it by now. My reputation is clearly preceding me more and more as the years go by. It’s almost like some people enjoy it. Some don’t, but that’s kind of beside the point. Either way, it’s become this big thing that when a certain kind of customer comes here, they’ll make sure to pick up on the most ridiculous or even made up issue and then decide to throw a hissy fit over it, knowing full well that the chef will almost certainly take objection to their objection.
Well, I’m not biting. Not this time.
No way. No chance. No… oh screw it.
Here I go again.
Without taking a second’s pause, I let my emotions rule over me and I power through the busy kitchen and out into the restaurant. Immediately I sense all eyes are on me, but I don’tcare. In fact, it’s pretty much the last thing on my mind as I make my way toward the complaining customer with an air of menace swarming around me.
“You, sir, can stick your bullshit objection up your ass!” I bellow, my voice echoing around the restaurant. “This is the best damned food in the city and it is an incredible act of disrespect to criticize the work of my loyal and very talented staff!”
I can feel the heat building up inside of me.
It’s hotter than my hottest oven, and if this richsonofabitchcustomer even thinks about answering back then I might just explode.
Here’s the thing. I worked my ass off from the ground up. I wasn’t born into culinary royalty like so many others.
No, that’s not my story at all.
I worked from a kitchen boy all the way up to the top. And I did it through working harder than anyone else, showing more commitment to the craft, and by never backing down even in the toughest and most high pressure moments.
And there have certainly been a few of those along the way...
I’ve been fired, made bankrupt, and pissed off more high society customers and snooty reviewers than I can even remember at this point. I’ve won awards too, been heralded as everything from the most talented chef of my generation to the most creative and competitive cook on this side of the Atlantic ocean.
But even taking into account all the trophies, money, and praise, the only thing that’s ever really mattered to me is the food. I’d work for minimum wage if I had to. And I’d do it with a smiletoo as long as I was able to prepare good food and serve it to hungry mouths.
However back in reality, I’m standing here with the whole restraint watching me, waiting to see if I’m going to have a classic Olivier Ramsey blowout…
“Anything else you’d like to complain about?” I ask, just about regaining my cool but keeping my voice nice and menacing just in case to ward off any bad ideas this customer might be having.
“No, I’m good. Ha! This is just perfection! I can report back to my buddies at the hedge fund that you truly are the best asshole chef in the city,” the customer says, an infuriatingly smug look on his face. “I could buy this place ten times over. But this is justpriceless!”
Fuck.
