There is a sadness in my restaurant this week because we lost someone very special to us. He has gone to a better place. My normally dark soul (stole that from Bravo TV's The A-List) is a little darker today because of the grief that is filtering through my liver and quite honestly my liver is happy to filter something other than tequila, vodka and Rose's Lime Juice. Our restaurant lost a chef last week and I will miss him dearly. I do not mean he was taken to that big walk-in refrigerator in the sky. The greasy finger of death did not reach out and touch him inappropriately. God did not call all his chil'ren home. Tommie got his ass fired.
Tommie had only worked with us for about two months, but he was the new head chef and instantly earned my respect when he decided to make Smores Sundaes one night ten minutes before closing much to the chagrin of our manager/owner. That may have been the beginning of his end. You see, Tommie did what he liked. My boss is a bit of a control freak so anyone who has bold ideas and a big personality are subject to firing. I conceal my personality since I don't want to be fired because I am too lazy too find another job. And you can be certain that no one knows I write this blog either. I almost told Tommie about it, but now he's gone and I can't. Such is life.
Tommie had language skills much like myself; every other word out of his mouth was "fuck." My boss does not curse and whenever Tommie dropped the F-bomb, I could see Boss Man cringe with uncomfortableness. But since Boss Man has testicles the size of chick peas, he never told Tommie that he needed him to tone down the language. Instead, he found it easier to sweat and shuffle his feet when Tommie said something like, "I made the most amazing mother fucking special today with some fucking sweet ass spare ribs that are gonna make you cum." One time he told me that the only thing he likes to eat more than food is his wife's pussy. "Man, I could eat that shit all motherfucking day and never get tired of it, Jesus Christ." I laughed. My boss cleared his throat and had a silent mini stroke. Oh, yeah, we have an open kitchen too, by the way. I knew that eventually something would have to be said to Tommie, but I wondered if my boss would ever have the guts to do it.
I guess he didn't because when I showed up to work last week, Tommie was gone. My boss could have taken him downstairs and simply said, "I love your outgoing personality and I wish I was more like you, but do you think you could refrain from the cursing while the restaurant is open?" That would not have been that hard to do and Tommie would have said, "No fucking problem, dude. Abso-fucking-lutely." Instead Boss Man probably sent him and email telling him he was fired and then emptied out his locker for him, placed it at the bar and hid in the office until he knew Tommie had come to get it. According to the rumor mill, Tommie was fired for "being too loud" and "looking at girls." It sounds like Tommie should have just been sent to the principal's office instead
The fact is Tommie is gone. I never knew his last name and I never got to tell him how much he meant to me. Or that I write this blog. If any of you know a guy named Tommie who has a hyphenated Japanese last name and he is saying something like, "My last job was cool but my fucking boss had a teeny wienie Vienna Sausage and English Pea balls between his legs" that's my Tommie. Tell him I said hello and have him email me. I miss my Tommie. He was a good man who liked to cook, liked to laugh and liked to eat but he liked eating out his wife even more. Fare thee well, Tommie. And who the hell is going to make mother fucking Smores Sundaes for me now?
(Sorry for the delay in posting. Between Hurricane Irene and my vacation, time got the best of me. -BW)
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