Each week a friend of mine hosts a webchat. Primarily, it serves as a marketing vehicle promoting both the interests of the publication he works for and the individual who was just featured in the paper. I never know if he gets 1000 people to participate in these chats or just 1, and so I often show up to support his mission and offer up a question. This week he was featuring a chef, and most of the questions felt like they were from mothers asking things on behalf of their children– the children that they were worried about– now in their jobless 20’s, still living at home and spending all their time drinking and playing video games.
“Chef, what’s the most important attribute for a young person to have to succeed in the hospitality industry?”
“Chef, would you recommend practical experience working or a diploma for those hoping to enter the restaurant field?”
Stuff like that.
This is the question I sent in:
“What is the absolute worst, most explosive, blood-thirsty battle you ever had in a kitchen? I once had a bowl of Cheerios broken over my head. Sugar really hurts when it finds it’s way into an open wound.”
I should also let you know that the Chef decided who sent in the best question, with that person winning a $50 gift certificate to his restaurant.
Naturally, I expected to win, but I did not, receiving this email from the host of the event:
“Mike:
The Chef thought your question was stupid and that you were just looking for attention. He said people like you are “all hat, no cattle,” and awarded the gift certificate to Meredith, who used several Italian phrases in her query.”
Clearly, the Chef was an insecure moron. My question was obviously the best and he probably just couldn’t take another Alpha Male in the chat room, and so I sent him this letter:
Chef Dong:
You are stupid (on so many levels) to award Meredith the gift certificate based on her question from Wednesday’s chat. Really, all it takes to impress you are a few Italian phrases? How does this one work?
Siete una ferita aperta scopante.
Nice, eh?
No matter, I’m not writing to address the absurd injustice of your decision or extract revenge for your insults, but to warn you about Meredith. She is a bringer of cockroaches. She keeps a couple in a urine sample jar she hides in her purse and at an opportune moment during her meal she will release them, usually sticking them in a salad or some other vegetable that other diners will suspect came from Mexico.
She will kick up a big fuss, yelling and perhaps even fainting. I once saw her take off a high heel shoe and start banging it on the table pretending to try to kill this pet cockroach. She does this so that you, in a blind panic, will comp her meal and give her a free liter of house wine. You invite the darkness by awarding her the gift certificate for her stupid question. She is a curse. The sun will hide for years if she wins this contest.
There is still time to reconsider, so reconsider.
Michael Murray
Comments
3 responses to “On losing a contest”
Has he reconsidered?
I knew a girl like Meredith only she collected dead flies from her windowsill and shook them out like pepper onto her restaurant food.
She enjoyed an abundance of free meals.
Kelly:
Because Chef Dong is stupid, he did not reconsider.
I once worked at a restaurant called Speedy Giovani’s where a cockroach inspired brawl broke out. The details will always be in dispute, of course, but a cockroach, either placed there or otherwise, was said to have crawled out of a bun. A drunk woman in a muumuu, screamed and brought attention to it. Accusations were made and an actual fight broke out. A lawyer, or at least a small man claiming to be a lawyer, was struck by a fat man who held a butter knife in his non-striking hand. The little lawyer was going to charge him with assault with a deadly weapon. The whole mess was cleaned up when all the complainants received a complimentary litre of house wine, which when you think about it, probably wasn’t the best solution, but the Lord works in mysterious ways.
you’re a fucking open wound? ha!