And by Mister Falcon, I do mean Mother Fucker.
Sooooo, like a year–ALMOST TWO–ago I wrote some words. They were good words. They were fun words. Then I didn’t write words. Because I am awesome.
It is now time to remedy this problem. At least for another year–ALMOST TWO.
SO, we left off with us playing “Guess Who” on who got a phone call.
Yeah, it was me.
And my stupid ass said yes. Well, more accurately, my stupid ass said yes after laughing at the voicemail for about five minutes. Because, for as smart as I am, I really did love the thrill of the grill. And it’s not like I sucked at my job. I was just an angry teen and twenty-something; for most of my twenty-somethings. I probably could have channeled that anger into something..
So, I returned on a freaking Monday. I want to say it was late in the year. It was still winter. Everyone that was awesome was happy to see me. It was good times, and I had finally learned to chill enough to where things that would have sent me off the handle now make me give little to no fucks. These were truly fun times. Except I was making like next to nothing, maybe like a buck fitty over the minimum. And the owner was INSANE about overtime. Yet, wasn’t afraid to schedule us for 12 hour days.
Now, this wasn’t my first rodeo in the place, and they needed someone to help run the kitchen. Specifically someone for the day and someone for the night.
GUESS WHO RAN THE NIGHT?
Find out in about a year–ALMOST TWO!
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