Chefs at the Diver's Arms are quite well paid. A 2 year contract with Mine Host leaves them with $60,000 in savings with which to re-enter the southern world. Alas most of them are unable to keep off the grog, live from hand to mouth, & are broke when their contract is finished.
In short: They can handle a frying pan, but not a chequebook.
Of course there has not yet been a chef who has lasted 2 years. Their artistic temper rapidly leads to them being either, locked up, hospitalised, sacked or run out of town.
Illegal drugs are one of the main causes of chef downfall. How can one who is so brilliant with food be so incredibly stupid with their own metabolism?
Wacka has just finished up, involuntarily. When he started the job he concealed from his employer a few things about himself;-
A chronic liver condition, which alone would have prevented him from completing his contract.
His employment history with at least 2 other businesses in the same town.
A significant criminal record dating from his previous sojurn in town.
Wacka collapsed on the job. Right in the middle of the kitchen, passed out *unconscious*. This happened 3 times over a fortnight. Each time we got him awake & off to the hospital. Later that night the hospital would release him.
Mine Host tires very quickly of unreliable staff, and nothing is more unreliable than a chef who continually falls unconscious at work & has to be carted off to hospital.
Asking Wacka what is wrong was a waste of time, as a certain element of the population is too dumb to be able to answer a question with any accuracy. Wacka is one of these.
The hospital naturally was most confidential about Wacka's condition. However a fishing companion of one of the staff, who may or may not have worked at the hospital, may or may not have revealed that Wacka was suffering from dehydration & malnutrition.
"Sounds about right!" thunders Mine Host when he hears the news, "the blighter looks awfully pasty, never drinks water, guzzles coca cola, & nobody has ever seen him eat. Typical druggo!"
The dilemma of how to get rid of the useless bastard (THANKS to the rump bandits who brought in unfair dismissal laws) was solved however, when Wacka knocked off work 4 hours early because he felt "a bit crook to work".
Wacka then returned to the quarters, got stuck into the rum (as sick people do.. haha) & after a couple of bottles fell down the stairs & broke his shoulder.
Mine Host was waiting on the hospital steps the following morning, handed Wacka 2 cardboard boxes which held the contents of his room in the staff quarters, advised him to not set foot back on the property, & wished Wacka all the best, as his final pay was not enough to purchase a ticket out of town.
2 comments:
I don't know.
As someone who is obviously self-employed, you have a responsibility to your business and its effectiveness to support yourself and your family.
Then again, as someone who has obviously sold his conscience on the free market, has no time for anyone that does not fit your perfect mould, and has forfeited their humanity in a chillingly offhanded way, such responsibilities seem less iron-clad.
When we lost our health lost everything no matter how rich, famous and powerful we could portrait ourselves to other people. Sad to see someone who put their own lives in a risk and wont realise it. God bless them!
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