These days, I run the kitchen of a 25 seater wine bar. Tiny place so my boss and I pretty much do the whole thing ourselves with a few add ons.
Add ons such as my new kitchen hand, a mate of mine, great kid who is more efficient and useful than the $6,000 industrial dishwasher I have him operating. Plus he has learnt to dodge the meatballs getting piffed at his head whenever he starts whinging. (An OH&S positive).
But the trouble is… Mates KNOW things.
Now, I do have a boy. He’s pretty delightful. A better looking, gym-junkie-built-like-the-gods, smarter and far nicer version of me. He just doesn’t know it and I’ll murder the person who helps him figure it out.
My mate knows this boy.
So no longer is the case where I ask my boss for an early finish, do I get a “Oh no worries, go home and have a good rest.”
Instead, I get the kitchen hand *your mate* and my boss having a nice discussion about all the potential happenings that will result from me going home early in order to see him in a state that’s not resembling a comatose Snorlax because he has a 6am start.
Having your boss and your kitchen hand giggle about your sex life in front of you…