It occurs to me that there are two mad people in this relationship I have every day between about 8 am and 5pm; him, the schizophrenic (OK, I know, it's not like that really, schizophrenia - I'm using the word in the pop, tabloid sense of the word) who can discuss nuances of Swiss litter collection one second and then launch into a raving, five-minute discourse on why I've just ended civilization as we know it by mis-placing a packet of paper napkins 20 centimetres to the left; and me, for putting up with it.
As I said to Marie this evening, it occurs to me that something truly remarkable has happened in me: I still want to be a cook after all the shit he's heaped on me. I must quite like this job.
And it occurs to me as I write this, too, that it's equally remarkable that I've held my temper on all but one occasion, and then it was to shout back at the truly clinically insane washer-upper. I play a game with her now - whenever I see her I say Hi, how are you, nice weekend? much on the rest of the week? and she doesn't reply. I know this gets to her because she slams stuff around even louder than normal.
The last thing she said to me was that I shouldn't put my aprons in the dirty apron hamper but on a table in the kitchen - "As I've been telling you for two months now".
I told her that I'd only been here five weeks, that she'd never mentioned it before, and hadn't I told her to fuck off once already so what was she doing here still?
Anyway.
Chef was away all day today, leaving us just enough work to last three or four normal days. We did a fair amount of it, but we'll be bollocked for not finishing it anyway. Je m'en fous, I don't give a damn.
Medical exam after an early finish, leaving poor Cedric to finish up; Chef engueuled him so badly this morning he made him cry. What an asshole, I'm sure he's proud of himself.
Anyway. The nice Dr Roman (typical stern, female doctor - stand there, take your clothes off, bend over, cough, is that a ladle in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?) pronounces me fit but overweight. I knew that, I see my time with the good Doctoress as my little contribution to French bureaucracy - such exams are a legal requirement for any French worker.
This evening I went to a job interview; I handed round my CV last week and one restaurant called back. Unfortunately, it turned out the position was really for a restaurant manager - sort out the ordering, make sure the chefs in the three restaurants the bloke owns have what they need, keep an eye on the table napkin levels, that sort of thing. Shame really, these are three very nice restaurants but this job is way outside my competency and experience, and it's not what I want to do at all.
Then again I don't want to do what I'm going to go and do tomorrow either...
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