The first steak was too dry, so I asked for this one a little well done. I asked my waitress, Vicki, if the chef's name is George Tatakis, she said no. I explained that I used to work for a chef who despised people who ordered their steaks well-done, and he'd deliberately turn their steak into a slab of smoldering charcoal just to punish them for what he considered ruining a perfectly good steak. Good old George. Wonder if he's still kicking. If a waitress would report "my customer says, 'give my compliments to the chef'", he'd reply "Compliments my ass, tell him to buy us a beer!" And sometimes they would. He was good enough to get away with that shit. I always wanted to be as good at what I was doing so I could get away with shit too... I think I accomplished that during my working career. Naturally, I had my share of fuckups along the way. Some people I'll never be able to repay... such is life. I still kick myself, mentally, now and then for the mistakes I made, and the unfulfilled promises, and the pain I caused both in my personal life and professional life. But I can't go back and do it over as in the movie The Butterfly Effect. I get over it, pick myself up, and move on. Those whom I wronged, deliberately or inadvertently, will also, or they'll die hating me (or both).
last updated 2013-01-10 20:48:07. served from tektonic.jcomeau.com