Jane, a name that will shred my eardrums for the rest of my life.
The Bird as it shall be known, was a "farm-to-table" restaurant I worked for, for a brief period of time. I can't help but wince in pain when I think of it.
"My cousin was Charles Manson"
"Really?" I said.
The waitress said"I like to listen to his music when the restaurant is closed. His music is really good! And it's genius. "
"Are you sure it just doesn't suck?" I was a week into my stay at The Bird. I wasn't in the mood to make friends with anyone. The Bird was sucking the life out of me. I didn't care anymore.
"I used to live in Mexico. I just did it on a whim. You know a lot of people say I should write a book about my life. All the things I've done."
"Your life isn't that interesting." I said. It was almost two o' clock and Jane would be coming into the restaurant at any minute. It would start with a shriek of a voice and then end with a snorting laugh. I was in charge of the kitchen and everyday would have to come up with a special that would use up some of the produce in the basement. Lucky for me, there never was any produce in the basement, there never really was. Jane kept it bare as possible. It was always empty except for a few potatoes and whatever ziplock bags of herbs that Jane would snip from her garden, and for some reason there was always a case of coconut milk.
Jane had bought The Bird ten years prior and under her rule, ten chefs had quit in three years. She was most likely the most unstable person I've ever come across, one minute she would be talking about how she was going to have an article written about her in the New Yorker and the next minute she would tell me stories about how she would call the restaurant while on speaker phone in her therapist office.
I really tried to make The Bird work, I really did. I stuck through some hard times, very hard times. After about three months I came up with a menu, after many hours of Jane screeching at me over details of the food and even more hours of me imaging that I was stabbing a fork in my eye, the menu was done. I had all the local farmers primed and ready to ship out all of there best animals part and vegetables.
But, then it happened. D-day. It was a Friday, and it was raining hard. It wasn't going to be a bad day, the new menu was about to take effect. The beautiful meats and vegetables were on there way. It was going to be a good one alright....I waited until about the time dinner service was set to begin before I started to worry. The food wasn't being delivered, could it be the rain? I called Jane, she told me "I'm feeling uncomfortable the direction you want to go." then she told me that she canceled the orders. No new menu, no meat, no veg. I was totally fucked. On top of everything else, the rain had totally flooded the basement, the prep cooks had taken their shoes off and waded in the water splashing going from task to task, god bless them they never stopped working. I thought that we might be ok through it all, maybe it would be slow, because of the storm that was going on. Wrong, we sold out of food around 7pm. People were being turned away at the door and the crowd in dining room were getting a little grouchy at best. Around 7:30 I kindly asked the dishwasher to "stop being an asshole and get me some clean fucking pans." Now, the punch he gave didn't connect with me, but I did feel the breeze of his knuckles on the side of my face. I knew he was a little grouchy too. It was a perfect shit storm and I was in the middle of it. I did what every other man in my position would do, I clocked out at 10 and went home and cried. At about midnight Jane texted me and asked "How did everything go tonight?" The next day I resigned, I've never heard Jane's voice again. But sometimes when the wind blows and a tree scratches the window, or someone steps on a cat's tail, I get reminded of Jane's screech and the horror of The Bird.
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