A restaurateur sees the same smoke and thinks, God, is that expensive smoke?
I once had a lead dishwasher abandon his station in the middle of a brutal Valentine’s Day service because, according to him, the gravitational pull of the moon was actively disrespecting his aura.
I handed him twenty dollars, called my cousin, and scrubbed scorched porcelain until two in the morning.
When I say I’m difficult to provoke, understand that my patience has been deep-fried in commercial-grade chaos for fifteen years.
My family, however, had a remarkable ability to test even that patience.
They also maintained a convenient collective amnesia about one important fact: the roof over their heads legally belonged to me.
They knew, obviously.
In the same way people vaguely understand how a car engine works while still acting personally betrayed when the vehicle runs out of gas.
Five years earlier, Ron and Linda had driven themselves into a financial disaster.
