Lasagna!
I have a part-time job in a dining room, it helps me pay the bills and from there I get my daily dosis of laughs and frustrations. We usually work from 10AM to 3PM. Very easy job, not much hassle and the money is all right. One of the things that pisses me off sometimes is the fucking chef that we have. Being completely honest I have to say that when it comes to food that bastard kicks ass. His food not only tastes very good, but the presentations of the plates and desserts and shit is really good. You eat both with your eyes and your mouth -well, I should say our guests because that rat barely feeds us.
The dining room is everything but a "for profit" company. We cater only to the top executives of a VERY large company, high in the Fortune 500 list, so our pool of clients is very limited, therefore this company covers those rivers of red ink that we have month after month. The thing here is that the chef feeds us shit most of the time. He prefers to feed the damn trash can before feeding us (servers and managers), and if someone mentions something about it this dog just erupts like the Vesubio.
He's on vacations for the week, and the "second in command" is taking his place. You should think that with the cat gone the rats will party... well, completely the opposite. This guy has been feeding us even worst than chef has done -hard to believe but true. On Monday he prepared a Lasagna that was as dry as a fucking saltin cracker, awful. So we joke that everybody had to take a very fucking big piece, eat as much as they wanted to and throw away the rest, in order to finish off the lasagna otherwise we will be eating that baby for the rest of the week. Could you guess what was on the window Tuesday? The same fucking lasagna. As I'm off Wednesday and Thursday I joke with everybody that they can put out the lasagna those two days for everybody to eat, but that on Friday if I see some of it, I could start stabbing people to right and left.
My manager just call me today (Wednesday) and asked me if I could work tomorrow because there's a lot of shit to do; of course I said that I was going to help'em out: "But this is going to cost you more than my regular hourly rate" I told him. And you know what this mother fucker reply to me? "Not a problem brother, I'm planning to pay you with LASAGNA..."
As we always say in the dining room: "We might not make much money up here, but do we have loads of fun or what?!"
The dining room is everything but a "for profit" company. We cater only to the top executives of a VERY large company, high in the Fortune 500 list, so our pool of clients is very limited, therefore this company covers those rivers of red ink that we have month after month. The thing here is that the chef feeds us shit most of the time. He prefers to feed the damn trash can before feeding us (servers and managers), and if someone mentions something about it this dog just erupts like the Vesubio.
He's on vacations for the week, and the "second in command" is taking his place. You should think that with the cat gone the rats will party... well, completely the opposite. This guy has been feeding us even worst than chef has done -hard to believe but true. On Monday he prepared a Lasagna that was as dry as a fucking saltin cracker, awful. So we joke that everybody had to take a very fucking big piece, eat as much as they wanted to and throw away the rest, in order to finish off the lasagna otherwise we will be eating that baby for the rest of the week. Could you guess what was on the window Tuesday? The same fucking lasagna. As I'm off Wednesday and Thursday I joke with everybody that they can put out the lasagna those two days for everybody to eat, but that on Friday if I see some of it, I could start stabbing people to right and left.
My manager just call me today (Wednesday) and asked me if I could work tomorrow because there's a lot of shit to do; of course I said that I was going to help'em out: "But this is going to cost you more than my regular hourly rate" I told him. And you know what this mother fucker reply to me? "Not a problem brother, I'm planning to pay you with LASAGNA..."
As we always say in the dining room: "We might not make much money up here, but do we have loads of fun or what?!"
Jean-Francois was drunk at 4:34 PM
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