The Sweetest Dish

#2 A Hostess' Oath! Navigating New Waters!

Zeff sat behind his desk, the morning sun casting shadows across his weathered face. His arms were crossed, and his narrowed eyes bore into each applicant as if he could see their thoughts. He was a man who had little patience for nonsense, and even less for incompetence.

"Tell me about your experience in the restaurant industry," Zeff asked the first candidate, a young man with a scruffy beard and an air of overconfidence.

"Well, I've worked in all sorts of places, you know? Fancy ones, casual ones...I can handle anything," the candidate boasted, but Zeff wasn't impressed. His eyes remained cold and unyielding.

"Give me examples of how you've dealt with difficult customers," Zeff continued, leaning forward slightly to emphasize the seriousness of his question.

"Uh, well, there was this one time when a lady complained her steak was too rare, so I just took it back and had the chef cook it some more," the candidate replied, scratching his head as if unsure whether that response would suffice.

"Is that all?" Zeff asked, his tone flat. The young man nodded, clearly beginning to feel the weight of Zeff's scrutiny. "Next."

The interviews continued in much the same manner. A string of hopefuls filed in and out of Zeff's office, each attempting to sell themselves as the perfect fit for Barratie. But with every response, Zeff's skepticism grew. These applicants didn't seem to understand the importance of customer service or the intricacies of working in a high-end establishment like his restaurant. They lacked the passion and dedication he demanded from his staff.

"Describe a situation where you went above and beyond for a customer," he asked another applicant, a woman with a tattoo sleeve and a nose ring.

"Um, does staying late to clean up count?" she asked hesitantly, her voice lacking conviction.

"Only if the customer was there to witness it," Zeff replied, an edge of annoyance creeping into his voice. "Next."

As the interviews dragged on, Zeff's patience wore thin. He found himself wondering if he would ever find someone suitable for the hostess position.

It wasn't just about seating customers and managing reservations; the hostess was the first face guests saw when they entered Barratie, the initial impression they had of the place. And in a restaurant as prestigious as his, first impressions were everything.

"Tell me why you think you'd be a good fit for this job," he asked yet another candidate, a middle-aged man with a weary smile.

"Because I need it," the man answered honestly, desperation seeping into his voice. While Zeff appreciated the candor, he knew that was far from enough to secure a spot on his team.

"Next," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he braced himself for another round of disappointing interviews.

Outside Zeff's office, Hana stood, nervously fidgeting with the hem of her blouse. Her eyes darted around the hallway, taking in the framed photos of Barratie's culinary masterpieces that graced the walls. She felt a sense of excitement bubble up within her at the thought of working in such a prestigious restaurant - a place where she could study the fish on the water and share her deep appreciation for food with others.

As another candidate exited the office, their shoulders slumped in disappointment. Hana couldn't help but feel her pulse quicken. But she refused to let her nerves get the better of her. Taking a deep breath, she mentally recited all the reasons why she was perfect for this job - her extensive knowledge of dishes, her passion for creating memorable dining experiences, and her ability to make people feel heard and understood.