Case in point; we were open less than a month when Cletus
lets me know that we have a big catering party coming up in a few days. Um,
what? He goes on to say that he agreed to do it over a week ago and forgot
about it until the gentleman just called him moments earlier with the final
guest count that would be attending. It would consist of prime rib, potatoes,
vegetable, bread, and dessert, not
including the beverages of liquor, wine, beer, sodas, coffee, and tea. Oh yeah,
and the now verified guest count was 100. The gentleman was hosting an event
for customers and had heard how awesome the prime rib during our premiere
nights was. (a story for another time, perhaps) It was also outside of the restaurant
in the city's event center. You stupid mother fucker!
It's not that I didn't want to do it, but it would be nearly
impossible without the proper staff and preparation time. We still had never
set foot in the event center as of yet and didn't even know what that kitchen
looked like. But, go ahead and promise someone that it won't be a problem
because you are this amazing big shot business man now, you fucking simpleton!
I am kind of laughing when I say to him, "I don't know
how we're going to do that!" to which he replies, "I'll call my
sister to help out in the restaurant that night while you are over there doing
it." Uh, what? "What do you mean while I AM doing it!?" He goes
on, "Well, I figure you can take care of that while I stay here and do
that night's service. Don't worry, my sister will help out here." Jesus,
Mary, and Joseph!!! I spurt out, "Do you have any idea how much goes into
catering something like that even for only 100 people! It's a hell of a lot
harder than slicing up some meat and calling it a night! And it's not even
in-house!" I still remember his retort. "Well, we'll just have to
figure it out." I said, "NO! Call him back and tell him you made a
huge mistake!" to which he says, "I can't. I already told him we
would do it over a week ago!" I said, "No, you said YOU'D do it over
a week ago. I never agreed to it! So, have fun doing it, I'll stay here for
service by myself. I don't need your sister." Boom! Now we're both pissed.
Good! Fuckin' retard.
Before we leave for the evening, he stops me by the back
door. He starts explaining why he agreed to it for the good of the business and
apologized for forgetting about it. He meant to tell me the next day after he
was approached but spaced it because we were working so much and had other things
on his mind. Fuck you! I didn't say that but my eyes sure did. He apologized a
few more times and basically begged me to do it, saying he was no where capable
enough and that he's never even done catering before. Eat a bag of hell, no, I
am serious!
What was I supposed to do at that point? Let people think
we're idiots when it's only one of us? Fuck, I'll do it. It's going to be
tough, but doable. I tell him point blank, "YOU find me a helper. I don't
care if it's a server or a relative or bartender or someone I've never met. I
need more hands." He guaranteed me that he would take care of it. Mmmhmmm.
Over the next 2 days I make a checklist of supplies and
thoroughly view the event center. Most of the equipment is decent for holding,
though not actually cooking for this volume. A lot of refrigeration, but one
oven, and it was an electric like you would have in your home. Sigh. Guess I'll
just use all of our warming equipment and cook everything at the restaurant.
Then turf all of it over. So simple this is starting off to be.
Of course the shit I
need comes in on truck day, which conveniently happens to fall on the exact day
of the party. Well, that just fucking great! Now I can't do much of anything in
terms of set up even the night before. Guess I'll just come in extra early
tomorrow morning to begin. Thank you God that the truck arrives at 4am!
There I am in at 5am the next day. Where is good ol boy
Cletus? And where is the helper I was promised? They're both supposed to be
here to assist. Big surprise. I call his phone and of course it goes to
voicemail. Well, he'll seen I called at least. I start organizing the
non-perishables to take over. Silverware, napkins, plates, bowls, utensils for
serving, pots, pans, dry ingredients, condiments, warmers, chaffers, towels,
cups, glasses, holy fuck you name it! Guess who also placed everything into his
vehicle and lugged it over to the event center? You guessed it correctly! ME!
And only me! I get back after several trips and begin to prepare and gather the
things that could be held in the refrigeration over there. Salad, dressings,
whipped topping, fresh fruit, garnish, sodas, again, you fucking name it! After
dropping all of that off I head back to wash 50 pounds of potatoes, season and
marinate 100 fucking pounds of rib roasts for as long as possible, because of
course, Cletus told them 12oz. cuts, clean vegetables, pick up the bread from
the bakery, etc. All of which could have been done the night prior, minus the
bread, but fuck no, we didn't receive any of it until 4 fucking am that
morning.
I then lastly travel over again to set up tables and
miscellaneous items that can be done beforehand. It's now almost 1pm and I'm
going back home for a few hours to mentally prepare for what will unfold. As
I'm getting into my vehicle, guess who decides to drop in? Yup, Cletus! He's
panicking and apologizing furiously. "What do you need from me?! What can
I do?!" "Nothing. I got it all
done." , I calmly replied. I just wanted to take a break for what was to
come and possibly take a small nap. I didn't want to argue or punch him in the
face, well I did, but you know what I mean. Then this twat has the balls to ask
me if I had time to do any restaurant prep for that night's service. Fuck man,
you're about to receive a crushed skull. I just said, "Yeah, all of my
stuff is ready to go." I didn't know if it was or not, but fuck you again.
"By the way, where was my helper today?" He says, "Well, I asked
Troy, and he doesn't get done with school until after 3pm." You inbred
dicknose, you asked one of the 2 high school kids to help, not one of our staff
that can actually be here. Not surprised at all. I leave feeling not
particularly thrilled. On my drive home I thought that I should call him and
tell him to put the rib roasts in the oven at 3:30pm, but why fucking bother,
I'll just come back then and do it myself.
I arrive back at 3pm and begin the cooking process of prime
rib and baked potatoes. Cletus had 2 of the 3 ovens full of shit!!! You have
got to be kidding me, this has to be a dream. I don't even say a word and begin
removing everything. He stops me in confusion. I plainly state, "How am I
supposed to cook our event food with 1 oven and an alto sham?" He says,
"Oh, I thought you were going to cook over there?" I had enough and
lost my shit. After berating him briefly, he starts slamming the things I
removed from the ovens on the prepping tables. Oh, is poor little baby mad? Has
the 2 hours you've been here stressing you out? Here, come cry on my shoulder
you fucking pussy. I had it with him and shout, "And where the fuck is
Troy? Oh probably still in school. Yeah, let's get someone who can't be here to
help!" Cletus doesn't say a word but oh my God is he pissed. Good! Troy
hears his name and pokes his head into the kitchen. "I'm here, what would
you like me to do?" I politely say hello and tell him to clock in. He says
he's been here since a little after 3pm and has been clocked in. I just shake
my head. So he's been dicking around for a half an hour or more and getting
paid for it. Perfect. Way to manage, Cletus. He didn't even know he was here! I tell him to grab this, this, and this, put it into my
vehicle and wait for me. I finish loading the ovens and go to leave. Before I
do, I tell Cletus that I ABSOLUTELY NEED him to check the temperatures on every
roast at 5:30pm. I want them right around 125 degrees. Of course he snarks,
"Medium Rare should be at least 130 degrees." AAAAHHHHH! I spit back,
"Wow! Good job! The meat continues cooking after you remove it from the
heat, plus I have to hold it over there for who knows how long!" I give
him a few claps of my hands to show how impressed I am with his brilliance and
blast out the door.
We arrive and began finishing the final setups for serving.
They wanted to go in a line cafeteria style which saved my ass because I sure
as shit didn't bring any actual servers. We sliced the desserts, made sure
everything was cooling and warming correctly, talked with guests as they
arrived, etc. I was back at the restaurant around 5:45pm. Cletus is in a spazzing frenzy like the world is coming to an end. His sister smiles and says hello
while she's working the fryers. He's got maybe 6 tickets hanging and they
aren't big. I ask him how the roasts temped. He says he hasn't had time to
check. I'm so done with you, blockhead. He's blabbing about something else and
all I'm thinking is, "Yeah, $1000 worth of meat in the ovens, but hey, who
has time?" The first 2 I check are just over the mark. Thank God I had
time to come back when I did. The others are fine with 1 being underdone, but I
can finish it over there if I need to. Troy and I load everything up and get
ready for the final push. As I'm leaving I notice thick smoke barreling out of
one of the microwaves. I yell out, "Microwave on fire!" He makes no
attempt to rectify the situation and instead is flipping burgers and steaks
like a madman. Shit, the broiler isn't even half full there Iron Chef Cletus.
So I have to walk
over and open the microwave. He's got a rack of ribs in it with the timer set
for 30 minutes. First of all, why the fuck are you microwaving ribs? Secondly,
no wait, why in the world are you microwaving ribs? And why for 30 minutes? I
don't care. There is no actual fire so I am leaving.
Since this is getting long-winded, I'll try to wrap it up a
bit easier. The event went over really well. There were a few hiccups along the
way, but I pulled through satisfied. All of the guests enjoyed the meal and one
even came back and gave me a $50 tip. I tried to refuse but he insisted. It was
a great opportunity to meet people of and around the town. Could have been
planned better, but yes, a silver lining. Troy ended up being fairly useless as
he had to leave by 8pm for homework, but we were finished up serving by then.
He tried to help me plate but was just slowing us down. He did hammer out most
of the desserts by himself though, so that was a plus. I was glad to have his
help even if it was meager.
The total commitment was over at 9pm so when the clock hit
that beautiful digit, I began packing things up to take back to the restaurant.
People lingered to drink and converse. No biggie as the host gets charged the
difference of brought booze to what was left.
I get back at around 9:30pm and begin unloading. I happen to
meet Cletus at the door. I put the first load down and he says, "You know,
I'm really sorry we had that argument. I know you did a lot of work and thank
you." I reciprocated mostly the same. I don't like fighting, but my God,
how far can one get pushed before it's inevitable? We shake hands. He then asks
me, "Well, I was on my way home. Did you need any help?" OMFG....of
course I did. I just said no and that we both could finish up over there in the
morning. Yeah right, morning and Cletus don't mix. Hell, seems up to this point
work and Cletus don't mix, or common sense, or personal hygiene, or anything
for that matter. He actually beats me to the restaurant in the morning! We
finish up and I begin to make out a bill for the catering and also do sales for
that evening for the restaurant and bar. Hmmm, I made the business over 3 times
what he did that evening, though we sure split the profits just the same.
Disgusting. This was just the first of many incidents where Cletus made equal
money to me with half the work and effort.
Until next time...in another day in the life of a line cook.
No comments:
Post a Comment