You Cannot Microwave My Worth
Language: en
Just because a dish went out one minute late, the owner's daughter accused me of slacking off. “Twenty-two minutes for the roasted short ribs? With this kind of efficiency, are you sleeping in the kitchen?” “The commissary kitchen down the street does it in five minutes, at half the cost.” Right then and there, the owner made the call. He was putting her in my spot. I turned off the burner, wiped my hands, and said absolutely nothing. She didn't get it. She wasn't improving kitchen efficiency; she was just accelerating the restaurant's funeral.