Sunday, September 4, 2011

Day CCCLXII

Stiffed

     “I think you oughta give me anoda hunet after what I just went through for ya!”

     “Don’t worry we’ll take care of you!” She replied.

     I never got paid, it was a lot of she’s not here at the moment, or she’ll call you back. They were in California, me in New York, and it didn’t make sense to sue for a few hundred dollars. The captain moved out of New Orleans, and I had no idea where to take my plight. Things like that will make you smoke or not let you quit.

     All I can say is keep trying, don’t give up- don’t let tobacco win. A little suffering is always needed to reach your goals.

    Today I was reminded of a friend I had, who had a pal who worked in a kitchen, at one of the city’s big hotels. I won’t mention the name. I don’t remember if his pal was illegal or not either, as this happened a long time ago. He told me his pal told him, they had a humongous pot hanging over a stove, where they made the soup du jour three times a week. Because of the size of the thing, it took many hours to cook the soup.

     Juanito was a very diligent laborer, who was never late, seldom took a day off, and loved by everyone. He would do whatever task he was given without question. He mopped floors, washed dishes, cleaned walls, stoves, refrigerators, whatever needed to be done. He was the man. He didn’t smoke and was always jokingly chastising his boss for his habit.

     “Man, jur longs must look like da smoked hams boss.”

     “Very funny ha ha!”

     Patron, as Juanito called him, was trying to quit, and sometimes he went for days, a week or two even, but kitchens being what they are, something always comes up, and the stress is hard to deal with, so out comes tobacco to the rescue.

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