fired up

i was running late for work. 

this is how most of my stories begin. that or, 'we were really drunk'.

Ofcourse the perfect story would be one that started with the two together...

i was really drunk and running late for work

but not today

i was just running really late

when i realised i hadn't blogged for at least a week

and i needed something juicy...

so i stopped at the cafe, job number two. the chef had bought an item from my job number one a few months ago, except he hadn't paid for it, and each time i reminded him about the 'purchase' he fobbed me off.

i was already pissed with him as i had only just got back my favourite jacket which he had 'borrowed' a few months before. 

see earlier blog for details on that fiasco.

anyho...

I reminded him about the purchase he had not yet purchased. He fobbed me off again so i reminded him about the jacket incident, drawing parallels between the two.

he argued with me about it, as he does, kneeding the dough aggressively. i reminded myself not to eat any baked goods from the cafe that day. i didn't need a scone filled with his anger.

lets pretend i'm not a nice person and sometimes i bait people for fun. lets pretend further this was one of those times.

i said to him... this is the problem i had the whole time we 'were' friends.

the hook lodged firmly in his cheek.

what do you mean 'were' friends?

well we're not really friends are we. i thought we were, even though you treat me like shit. but then trainer boy came to stay. and we treat each other like mates, you know...looking out for each other, helping each other, caring about someone else.

The chef turned,"i don't care. I don't care about you. I don't care about you and trainer boy. I don't care about any of you.

I smiled and lowered my voice. He hates it when i do that. So i smiled especially big and lowered my voice especially especially low. " i know. This is what i am saying".

"i'm just embarrassed i was the last one to realize this about you."

the doe was a crumbled mess on the counter as he burrowed his fists through the stainless steel bench top.

And then he erupted.

GET OUT

YOU'RE FIRED

DO NOT COME BACK

YOU ARE NEVER COMING BACK HERE

the other chef tried to hide behind a broom stick.

'fine' i whispered..."when do you think you'll be coming in to pay for that shirt?"

a bowl flew past me and crashed into the wall behind.

i left.

The owner rang me later in the day to make sure i was still coming to work on Thursday.

The chef quit.

shirt unpaid.

blog written.