Their proud management loved it that there were three doors in and out. Few wanted to get in; many more wanted out everyone except Boots and Mrs. Boots she who drank Gin &Tonics her whole shift. By quitte'n time she was fairly well toasted
The first started at the counter - scenic views of the kitchen and chef. Next the only flicker of elegance in the whole place - the dining room with the bar, a horseshoed shaped structure with a bartender right out of Star Wars. The bathrooms were all the way in the back of the building.
It wasn't until in a ramble around, wondering to see what shift I'd be assigned I "discovered" the formal dining room used for catered private parties. The outside catering saved them all from ptomain poisoning.
There real appeal for me was observation of these denizens of their version of "work" One slow evening, I got tutored about kitchen fires by the chef rather vehemently I thought. The thrust of his instructions: Never use water on a fire. Use milk instead. with that and brief finger shake, he slammed down his 4th or 5th shot of straight vodka and turned back to a smoking hot skillet- you could tell -because sweat was pouring off of him.
This has been an introduction to the place. Now what were the people saying and doing?
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