Yes Chef. {Dnf}

|9|

Today might have been the most stressful day I have ever had as a chef.

No, I'm not stressed because the head of food in the hotel is going to be eating our food. No, I'm not stressed because he's going to be eating food that I've cooked. And no, I'm definitely not stressed out my fucking mind because I'm partly to blame if things go terribly today.

I, just like many others in the kitchen, are stressed out because George is stressed out. I know it might not be such a big deal, but it really is.

This small dinner is to basically test George and his ability to prepare a meal because he's the new head chef. George got to pick the meal and he got to decide who cooks it, when to cook it and with what. George is the backbone of this whole meal, so if it falls to shit he'll probably get fired.

George had been pacing this entire day, back and fourth from kitchen to kitchen with a dish cloth in his hand. Twisting and twisting it until it can't anymore then twisting it again in another way. He will probably destroy it by the end of tonight, but he doesn't seem to care.

I noticed George's face today and how utterly tired he looked. I mean he usually looks tired but today the eye bags under his eyes just seem deeper and darker. They're the first thing you see when you look at his face and the last thing you think of when you leave.

It's almost as though George's face is a painting, painted with the most delicate and expensive brushes known to man and by the most sturdy hands ever crafted. The paints, made from flowers and other striking things, lightly painted over his features like a graceful dove as it floats up to the sky and dances with the wind.

However, as the painter perhaps left to grab something a small child might've grasped the light wooden brush between its sticky hands and painted dark circles underneath the angel's eyes. It was too late when the painter had arrived as by now the paint would've dried and permanent black rims were forever ruining the once prepossessing face.

It almost looked wrong on George's face, somewhat strange. As if these dark rims were not a real part of his face, but maybe the work of another.

"No, no, no! Sapnap your doing it wrong. Don't put the shallots in with the tomatoes before the shallots have fully browned and there giving off a somewhat sweet smell or else they'll be under cooked." George's shrill voice rang throughout the kitchen and caused me to wince.

All day, as well as twisting a dish cloth around George had been screaming things at me and other chefs. Telling us that we're doing it wrong, it's going to taste horrible, it looks awful, etc. I was stressed enough by all the regular orders and the more important one, but George was really testing my patience.

Glancing down at the pasta I was cooking, I tried to block out George's voice but it was extremely hard considering his voice sounded like a siren; loud, obnoxious and utterly irritating.

To the right of me I heard a muttering, so I turned my head to take a look. It was Punz. He was cursing George under his breath whike cooking and looking angrily at his pan.
"Hey Punz, what's up?" I asked as I lowered the heat on my pan and turned slightly to look at him. He looked at me before sighing.
"Man, I don't even know. It's just...just George being a dick I guess." He muttered and stirred the food that was inside the pan, causing it to sizzle and crackle.

"I know dude but try to ignore him, okay? It will just turn out easier for us all if we do." I said and tried my hardest to give a sympathetic smile. It seemed to work because Punz then sighed and nodded at me before turning his pan off and going away to find a plate.