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Having made the decision to work in the restaurant industry (which makes it sound more serious then it is- I'm a waiter and busboy), I've been working at The Restaurant since February. Without a doubt, working at The Restaurant has been, long standing for many times to come in my life, an amazing job. Working here has a great setup. It's close by, for one thing; meanwhile, it's fairly popular, the vibe is chill and since I have been there, I have seen great workers and have made and worked/work with great friends of mine that I have made. Some of them moved on, some of them have stayed and a new wave has arrived giving The Restaurant a new glow. Having become so comfortable in the work place, this has allowed me to feel successful at a job for the first time. However that exact glow that The Restaurant is in itself is something that was recently darkened for a short time being. My first story...
Hephaestus was a god among men; the head chef when I first arrived and an amazingly respectable man with creativity that stretched for miles. But after losing Hephaestus in early May, The Restaurant was looking for a new head chef.
Enter Chef Brian- that's his real name- and the emotional stupidity that came with him. And as fast as he entered the place, just as quickly was he gone. A 29 year-old, slightly taller and slightly wider then me, Chef Brian looked out of shape; purple rings under his eyes and a dark tone on his skin that looked like he had blotched it with cigarettes, which he joyfully admitted he had been smoking since age 15.
My second night working with him included a fit between the two of us in the kitchen, late at night in the mid-week, in which he at one point screamed at me from across the restaurant. That story is pretty whacky. Aside from that first incident, there have been multiple occasions where he and I have butted heads. However one night, things got a little over the top.
A good and successful night began to wrap up and me and PT, a good friend of mine whom I have made and a fellow Westport native, were moving on upstairs to do some hard core chillin' after we had finished our side-work. Passing by Chef Brian's office- the room that was the changing room, which he took forcibly- I remembered what Brian had said to me just days before: "If you ever smoke weed in my office, I will be very angry." So when I see him sitting there, I have no choice but to make a light-hearted joke and say "Hey PT! Whatdoya say we smoke some pot in this here room?" PT giggles and I smile a tad. Chef Brian has none of it, "Don't ever smoke weed in my office! I will kick your ass."
Mind you, none of these events are made up or exaggerated. These are full to the bone, completely how it happened.
So PT and I walk another ten feet out onto the porch, and I respond with, "Okay, I'll make sure to stink up your office!" Almost a full minute passes by and PT and I are having a calming talk when the door to the porch swings open violently and there he is, Chef Brian standing in the doorway, screaming his head off at me. The following dialogue is exchanged in rather loud tones:
Chef Brian: "Who do you think you are?? If you ever smoke weed in my office I will kick your ass!"
Me: "Why would I smoke weed in your room? That doesn't make any sense when I can go outside."
CB: "How old are you?? 21?! You're just a kid! You're a white, spoiled, rich kid from Westport. Your mommy and daddy probably pay for everything, you brat!"
Ginger Man enters (our boss and manager): "Excuse me? Shut up! People can hear you from the bar."
Me: "That's funny, I've been wondering the same thing: how old are you, Brian?"
CB: "29"
Me: "You're the most immature 29 year old I've ever met."
CB: "IF I EVER CATCH YOU SMOKING WEED IN MY OFFICE I WILL KICK YOUR ASS!!"
Me: "You wanna kick my ass? Let's go, Brian! Right now! If you wanna kick my ass, I wanna see it!
CB: "You don't know me!! You don't know me!"
(Chef Brian turns, walks back into the hallway back toward his office, slamming the door ferociously behind him)
*Sigh* Jeezum Crow...
PT and I move back to a calming conversation when, not five minutes later, Brian comes back. With his hat, sweatshirt and backpack on, he once again swings open the door, into the chair I'm in, and shoves by PT, almost bringing him down the stair case with him, back into the kitchen. He could have just gone down the stairs next to his office which go directly into the restaurant...
In any event, Ginger Man tells me, the next night, that he would like me personally to "take all his dumb shit, and stuff it in a box. It should be a small box." So I follow orders and I pack his stuff up and I bring it down to the bar.
Now, I must be clear: I wasn't the only reason this maniac got fired.
-Brian was hitting on a 19 year old hostess, on the clock and on premises, in the front of house.
-Brian spent more than his share of the budget, buying items that were unnecessary.
-Brian let his ingredients run too low and too old (last Thursday, we had six dishes sent back because of faulty ingredients that this guy doesn't replace).
-Brian was seen snooping around Ginger Man's office and email.
-Brian's inability to get along me and others because he was emotionally stupid served his ticket out.
We decided to tell customers that we were out of our Cheesecake, normally a very high selling desert, because the one he had made was so ratchet, some of us almost threw it up.
But possibly the biggest note of his terrible managing skills was when we received our mass delivery of ingredients for the kitchen. The delivery came to the restaurant, and he was not there to receive it. Our own head chef was not there to receive his new ingredients for his kitchen. So the truck left.
On the day that Chef Brian was fired, he showed up to work an hour and forty minutes late. Fitting.
