BEING MERCENARY
Written by AfricaChef
Bon Jovi said it best with these lyrics…”A Gypsy Lost in the Twilight Zone”! It’s a perfect way to describe the life of a Mercenary Chef. The soul of a gypsy and the realization that you may find yourself working in the “Twilight Zone” are essential ingredients to stomaching this free and crazy lifestyle.
The life of a Mercenary is perfect for us commit-a-phobic individuals who learn their jobs quickly and get bored easily. Personally, I need a change of venue often to keep myself satisfied. I get restless in a confined and secure position. After years of changing jobs often and trying to explain my transient nature to prospective employers, I realized that I had to create a paradigm shift in the way I looked for work.
Thanks to the internet, I discovered a whole world out there where seasonal chef assignments were just waiting for me. In other words, the world was my oyster and I couldn’t wait to shuck it!
Finally there were legitimate excuses for my ever changing jobs and my resume now reads that I am a “Freelance Chef” working world wide. Basically, self-employed and my own person. Freedom and liberation are essential to my happiness.
The upside of being a Mercenary is having the opportunity to work in exotic and remote locations around the world. The downside is, let’s just say, frightening.
My work, as a Mercenary, has taken me to a Buddhist Temple on the Big Island, to the glitter and glamour of Las Vegas and to the peace and majestic beauty of Yellowstone. Being a freelance chef helped me to experience “Rocky Mountain Highs” and to discover the crème de la crème…working at the most prime game viewing safari destination in all of Africa.
When working at these world class destinations, I make sure to take the time to experience local attractions first hand. After six long months working at the safari camp, I chose to do some white water rafting on the Lower Zambezi River, considered one of, if not the most, extreme white water rafting experiences in the world. The next day I swam at the edge of Victoria Falls.
While working at a ranch in Montana, I spent my days off hiking the back country of Yellowstone. In Las Vegas I experienced the craziness of the “Strip” everyday, enduring several New Years Eve celebrations that could only be described as insane.
The Hawaii gig allowed me to stand on a live volcano at the southern most tip of the United States. And while in Florida I got to enjoy Disneyworld and the beautiful Atlantic Ocean beaches.
In Alaska, I got to travel through the Inside Passage, watch humpback whales breaching, bald eagles soaring and massive halibut being pulled into the fishing boats. The sun never set.
I think you get the idea, working as a Mercenary Chef has its advantages, especially if you are someone who appreciates nature and wild life.
To do this kind of work successfully, one must be comfortable living in far removed and remote locations. Not that all Mercenary jobs are remote, but many of the best ones are.
So the downside comes from the fact that you rarely, if ever, get to see the kitchens or meet the boss man prior to traveling half way around the world.
Accepting chef jobs in this manner is not for the faint of heart or the prima donna culinarian. This is where the “Twilight Zone” description comes in. Often times, you accept and arrange for these jobs months in advance. Emails fly between you and your new boss, the owner/ manager seem really nice and you can’t wait to get to your new assignment. You may even spend hours of your own time creating menus and shopping lists in order to appear cooperative and enthusiastic.
It has been my experience though, that often times, the new boss / manager / owner turns out to be difficult, arrogant or unappreciative. Other times you get lucky and the people you answer to are nice and cooperative.
Sometimes the staff you work with are really young and focused more on quitting time then getting the food out and cleaning the kitchen. Easy access to mass quantities of alcohol and drugs is the norm and isn’t a bad thing for some of you, but can be really detrimental to others.
I am an intense and serious chef. Don’t get me wrong, I like to have fun, listen to music and dance in the kitchen, joke around and be lighthearted when it is appropriate. What I despise and dislike immensely is working with individuals who don’t take their jobs seriously, who try to get by with doing as little as possible or who lie and cheat. That goes for the boss man as well (they can be truly evil at times). My boss at the safari camp was so tight with his money that he counted every single egg that I cracked for breakfast! Ugh! He had his own chickens so the eggs didn’t cost him anything. Please, please, I beg of you, just let me do my thing, I promise the food will be wonderful and the guests will be ecstatic.
Obviously, I don’t like to be micro-managed, if I wanted that kind of control over my work, I would be working for a Hilton or Marriott, or would be back in the corporate environment that I endured in Las Vegas.
Point being, working as a Mercenary Chef is for those culinary professionals who march to their own drummer, want to travel to strange and exotic locations and who want short term assignments so they can move on to another new and exciting destination on a regular basis.
Since a Mercenary rarely knows in advance what kind of living arrangements or cooking environment they are facing, I have developed a check list of criteria that are deal makers or breakers. Since everyone is different, I wouldn’t presume that my list would work for you and highly recommend that you develop criteria and boundaries that are important and vital to your own contentment and happiness.
For instance, I won’t share a room or bathroom with co-workers. If a job requires me to do so, I pass on that particular opportunity. And, after experiencing the unpleasant aspect of working with teenagers, I won’t be accepting jobs where young workers are involved. However, these things may not be deal breakers for you. If, for instances, you are a chef in your 20’s, then sharing a room and working with a young wait staff might not bother you.
I also require internet access, as most of you would, so be sure that you have a clear understanding of what kind of access is available to you. If you don’t possess your own laptop, will the lodge have a computer available for you to use? Don’t be deceived by a “yes” answer because often times, the manager will need to be on the computer all day and you won’t have a chance to get on. At the safari camp, the only time I could get on-line was if the manager was away from camp.
My solid advice is that if you do become a Mercenary Chef be sure to invest in your own laptop, your life will be so much easier. But be sure that there is some internet access for you to tap into. When I went to work at the fishing lodge in Alaska, I was told there was internet access only to find out it was a dial-up connection which wasn’t always available. I ended up paying the local bar to access their wi-fi and had to go to another location, outside the lodge, just to read my email. It wasn’t always convenient.
It’s also a good idea to have a digital camera to create a photo journal of your experiences and of your fabulous creations. It helps when applying for new jobs and gives you something to look back on in your old age.
In Africa, the kitchen was full of spiders, ants, snakes and geckos. If you can’t tolerate vermin and bugs, then it wouldn’t be a good situation for you. I don’t even want to think of how many ants the guests consumed over the course of a day. They were everywhere! Basically, understand what your tolerance levels are and go from there.
Other things to consider…
Does the kitchen have easy access to the outdoors, does it have windows, is it easy to work in, is there plenty of refrigeration? What is the point of being in a beautiful location and not be able to see it from the kitchen.
PJ has a great suggestion, have the manager send a few photos of the kitchen before accepting the job; it prevents unpleasant surprises upon your arrival. This is especially important if you have just traveled for 2 days to get to the place only to discover a frightening and dirty environment.
Like I have said, this work isn’t for the faint of heart. You must be an adventurous individual, independent and a self starter. Often times you will have accepted a job on the fly because the previous chef didn’t work out. You’ll find yourself stepping into a stressful situation where you arrive one day and fifty VIP guests arrive the next. Needless to say, the pressure is on and it is times like these that separate the men from the boys (or girls, whatever applies).
Being a veteran chef is what has gotten me through many tough situations out in the field, a beginner won’t always have the skills to step in and operate a kitchen single handed, preparing breakfast, lunch and dinner for the masses. Personally, I like it, but once again, it isn’t for everyone.
A Mercenary Chef, working at a guest lodge, needs to possess not only superior culinary skills but also must be highly organized, work neatly, be flexible, able to sustain long periods on their feet and, most importantly, smooze well with the guests. You have to be okay when guests and visitors wonder through the kitchen all day long. The biggest beef a manager or owner has is when the chef is unpleasant to their guests or is uncooperative regarding the never ending intrusions into the kitchen. Requests for recipes are a constant so I usually respond with our motto…”Recipes are for Housewives”! It always brings a laugh; then I end up sharing the formula anyway.
My advice to anyone just starting out on this crazy lifestyle is to know your skill levels, never misrepresent yourself, know your boundaries and ask tons of questions.
Put your stuff into storage because you won’t make any money if you have to pay for an apartment that you never live in. This is when family comes in handy so you have a place to land while traveling from one place to the next. It also helps if you are single because there aren’t too many jobs that allow you to bring a spouse or significant other. Occasionally that happens, but not often. Besides, tantalizing temptations are around every corner and leaving someone behind just spells trouble!
As for myself, I can’t begin to count the numerous times I have said to my friends that I am ready to retire and to shoot me if I take another chef position! But, alas, it is what I do and who I am, it’s in my blood. After all, you can’t expect a leopard to change its spots.
But sometimes things happen you don’t expect. Like working at an excellent job you really like, then falling off a mule and breaking your ankle, having surgery, loosing your job and being out of commission for 3 months.
That is where I’m at right now, in recovery and licking my wounds. Fortunately, I’ve obtained a temporary position over the holidays, hoping and praying that my ankle has healed enough to endure the 14 hour days that I know are looming in my future.
If security and having a regular paycheck is your thing, then don’t go Mercenary.
So now I have the Super Bowl and Fiesta Bowl to look forward. I’ve managed to sign up with a food service company that is hiring workers for those big events. After that, who knows, maybe a yacht job or one on a sunny, desolate island. The possibilities are endless.
My friends envy me for my lifestyle and all the traveling; many people say they live vicariously through me. But I remind them that my life is based on insecurity and the unknown, never sure where to go next, constantly seeking new opportunities, hoping they will turn out well. Once again, not for the faint of heart.
I used to have a sticker on my bathroom mirror that said…”The Definition Of A Journey Is Getting From Point A to Point B Without A Map”! That’s my motto and I’m sticking to it!
Besides, I can’t wait to put the Super Bowl experience onto my resume, it’s icing on the cake, the top prize for having lived as a “gypsy lost in the twilight zone”!
PUT YOUR BOOTS ON!
THE CONTINUING SAGA OF A MERCENARY CHEF
By Afrikachef
My stuff has been in storage for over three years, so in essence, I’ve been homeless about that long. Relying on the kindness of strangers, or should I say, strange employers, I flitter from one job to another, seeking fame, fortune and a place to call home.
Sometimes this gypsy lifestyle works to my advantage, and other times it doesn’t.
Face it, as a Mercenary Chef; we never truly know what awaits us around the next turn. Employers will say anything and everything to get you to take the job, often candy coating what turns into a slave labor situation. Not always, but enough for it to become predictable.
You’d think I’d have learned my lesson by now, but fall for it every time.
“You only have to prepare dinner because there is a breakfast / lunch cook on staff, so you’ll start your day around 11:00 am and be done around 8:00 p.m”, says the club manager during my phone interview.
“Really, wow”
Taking everything that was said for the truth, I bragged to all my friends that my new gig would be a breeze. “I only have to cook dinner, make a lot of money and spend the summer in a beautiful location; it’ll be a piece of cake”
Famous last words.
My first day on the new job, I discover that the so called breakfast / lunch cook claims she has never, ever prepared lunch, the “Chef” always did. Mmmmmmm ????
“Excuse me?”
Not only that, I was told that delivery trucks arrive at 5:30 a.m every morning and that the “Chef” (there is that word again) was the only one to check in all those dark o-thirty shipments. “Are you freaking kidding me?” I asked in utter shock. “No chef, we aren’t kidding you, that is how the chef did it last year”.
Note to self…First order of business, establish new delivery times!
Within one day at my new job, new location and new virgin crew, I discovered that nothing was as promised by said manager. What have I got myself into this time?
Note to self…Second order of business, ask for raise.
“Excuse me, sir, but you see, I accepted this position and this salary based on the job responsibilities as they were conveyed to me during our interview process. It is quite apparent that I’ll be working a gazillion more hours than you indicated.”
“I’d like a raise, please”
“You haven’t even prepared one meal yet, and you expect me to give you a raise! No way, but I’ll keep this all in mind during bonus time”
Ugh! There was that carrot dangling phrase we all loathe…”Bonus Time”
“Thanks anyway, boss” Sigh!
As chefs, do any of us ever receive the bonus we think we deserve? Some of us do, but most of the time a bonus is so arbitrary that we are often more than disappointed. In fact, at my last position, they would have laughed me out of the kitchen if I even suggested a bonus.
At least at this new gig, there is the slight possibility of attaining the unattainable.
Now here I am, at this new job, working my ass off, in hopes of obtaining the ever elusive dollar at the end of the season.
So, once again, I’m in a kitchen from sun up to sun down, same old, same old.
Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do and am incredibly good at it. But just once, couldn’t I be told the truth about a job? I want to be able to make my own accurate assessment and then decide if it is a position I want to pursue? It’s not much to ask for, is it?
And in the end, I can’t help but wonder…..does hard work really pay off?
You tell me because I’m still waiting to find out.
It’s going to be a long summer!
Hey there Mr. Banks,
Just writing to tell you how much I appreciate your Web site, which seems to be growing in popularity daily. I've been logging in for months, and actually got a summer gig with Montana Yellowstone Expeditions cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner pretty much solo for 3 months. (Got 3 days off total during that time.) The pay was good, the physical environment knock out beautiful.
Sorry I didn't use part of the income to purchase some gear, but I will, promise. (And, by the way, what I appreciate most of all is your contribution to homeless causes, not to mention your dedication to the chef tribe.)
Another thing, I've told potential employers who have asked that yours is the go to Web site for chef recruitment.
Also, through your site I landed a gig in Costa Rica, which I'll take if I can figure out what to do with my house and dog.
Further, I've tried to contact a couple of other chefs through your site, but the e-mail either bounced back (what's with that Nicosi dude?), or received no response.
Keep up the good work.
Douglas Larsen
P.S. I sent you a story called the "Walk In" last fall. Any recall of that? No matter. I know your plate's overloaded.
Thanks for your response Phil. The Costa Rica gig is in Puerto Viejo at a hotel called La Perla Negra.
My dog couldn't deal with the tropics. He's a black labradoodle who has spent his life in the arid SW at 8K feet.
Know anything about the La Perla Negra hotel whose owner Marlena is offering me employment?
I stayed in Puerto Viejo for about a week 8 years ago. On the eve of my departure 2 female American college students were murdered. I could tell many other stories of that time, but later for now.
philip banks to douglas
show details 9/13/08
well, I was speaking with them a while back
is the offer still 20% of the revenue and a place to stay??
be careful - you know this
get as much info as possible
pictures of the kitchen - refrigerators - you living accomidations
are they helping to pay for your flight??
it looks like a cool place
just not sure about the money -- maybe you got a better deal?
Let me know if you have any more ?s
I will get back to you asap
Phil
Yeah, Phil. The deal is 20% of the take, a room,etc. Don't know if the room is some windowless blow down shack or not. It's gotta be hot and gloomy no matter what. Shit, man. I don't know what to do, whether to take it or not.
I wrote Marlena, the Polish owner, today asking for pictures of the facility. Asked her about cold storage and dry.
She's not paying any travel expenses, but maybe I should push for that.
Keep me posted. This is my life on the line. No better deals than this one, other than to stay where I am and apply for food stamps.
And, oh yeah, here's the attachment for the story. Open it or not, but please stay in touch. D
philip banks to douglas
show details 9/13/08
here is what I am thinking
you need to find out what kind of money the restaurant brings in daily
Is this the place where the restaurant is closed??
if not
get prices on menu items
daily covers
and do the math
you might end up making 30-40 dollars a day for a 12hour or more day
are they open every day? - if yes then you ain't getting a day off
get this info from her and the fotos
and push for some help on the flight
half is fair, since you are both taking a risk
or
maybe work a deal that if you pay for it all, they will pay you back after a certain period of time
Don't stress - going to Costa Rica to work is a great opportunity
let me know how she handles your questions and I will look around to see if I have any other leads you might be interested in
last question for now
when do they want you there?
later
Phil
Hi Phil,
It sounds like the cover is around $12 for a poultry or seafood entree. She has groups booked, so I figure 1K a day gross. This is the place where the restaurant has been closed for close to 2 years. She assures me that it's not a 7 day a week thing, but who knows?
I've asked for photos. Let's see what she sends. I'll make an effort to have her share travel expenses. I'd take an investigative trip down there if I could afford it, but I can't.
She wants me down there tomorrow, but I can't make it until early November.
You know anything about the islands off Panama?
Thanks for your insights. D
WELL HERE IS THE STORY
The Walk In
By Douglas Larsen
Ana pulled into the restaurant parking lot and climbed out of her Honda Prelude. Hit cold air and the smell of fried food. As she picked her way over ice-patched gravel, a gust of wind knifed through her mini skirt and pierced her thong.
She pushed open the back door into kitchen heat and the sound of the Talking Heads cranked up. Jimmy.
And there the skinny monkey was, doing some kind of weird shuffle, waving his arms with a spatula in one hand and a whisk in the other. “Hey, darling, look at me I’m the dancing chef.”
Ana took in his stained apron, ratty moustache, and the shit eating grin revealing bad teeth. Flashed him a perfect smile. Creep.
She pushed through the swinging doors separating kitchen from waitress station where busty blond Mitzi sat doing silverware rollups while chewing gum. Bovine girl with the big tits going south just like her butt looked up. “Hey girlfriend. You’re late.”
“Got stuck in traffic.”
“Funny.” Mitzi bent back to her task.
Ana donned an apron and launched into her side work, swept the dining room, cranked up the espresso machine, filled water pitchers and creamers, set tables with a familiar litany running through her head.
Everything was way too familiar. Old man Bixby—the tightwad owner with his cigars and scotch—so cheap he made the waitresses clean the floors for $2.50 an hour rather than pay the dishwasher six dollars to come in an hour early; his demented son Jimmy the dancing chef; the same old fucking clientele—mostly a bunch of aging hippies and New Agers hiding out here in the back of nowhere.
She was sick of their faces and sick of their ways. She’d be so glad when she didn’t have to serve another dirty old man winking at her and delivering lines like, “Hey babe, can I get some of those buns?”
She chewed the inside of her lip while filling saltshakers. Couldn’t wait until graduation. Go to France or something, she didn’t know—somewhere else, for sure.
At least Jimmy had turned down his bullshit music. Ana pushed into the kitchen with a bus tub filled with dirty lunch dishes, just as the night time dishwasher shambled into the room. Mop head stoner Jack with hunched shoulders and bangs in his eyes.
She gave him a hello and he said hi back, avoiding eye contact. One year behind her in school, he was OK, even if he was a crappy dishwasher who had a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Always doing stupid shit. Like when he got pulled over for a broken tail light with a bong and a bag right out in plain sight on the passenger’s seat. He was lucky that time. The sheriff confiscated his shit and let him go with a traffic ticket.
She shook her head and was about to ask what was for staff dinner when Jimmy went off.
“Look what I found in the walk-in you shit head.” He thrust a soufflé cup in Jack’s face. It was partially full of mocha custard, and it looked like the missing portion had been scooped out by hand.
“Wasn’t me.”
Dlarsen, Walk-In
“ Who was it then?”
“I dunno.”
Jimmy flung the ceramic container at a stainless steel sideboard where it bounced off the edge and shattered on the floor.
“ Fuck head.”
He reached for his drink, a pint glass supposedly filled with cranberry juice, but that was just for color. It was a miracle the guy could make it through a shift without hitting the floor, though rumor had it that he was standing at the stove one night when he did a face plant on the grill. He was quick to claim the angry scar on his forehead a birthmark.
One thing you could say for him was he could cook drunk or stoned or both, and he was usually both.
“So what’s for staff dinner?” Ana wasn’t letting that one go.
“ Burgers.”
“Again?”
“Whaddya want? You’re lucky to get anything the way the old man’s ragging on me about food costs.”
Mitzi stood in the waitress station stuffing her face with bread.
“Wait a few minutes you can have yourself a burger.”
“Again?”
“ Flash some tit and you might get filet mignon.”
D. Larsen, The Walk-In
“Funny. Think we’ll get any business tonight?”
“Flip a coin, see who goes home first?”
“I went last time.”
“Whatever. You been dipping your fingers in the custard?”
“My what? What are you talking about?”
“Forget it.”
“Girl, you’re too weird.” Mitzi licked a crumb off her lip.
You’re never prepared for a shit storm when it hits, but they did their best. Seemed like every urban refugee and construction worker came in at the same time, despite, or perhaps because of, blizzard conditions. Even Ana’s uncle Manuel showed up with a couple of manos from the ranch.
They ordered buffalo burgers and Coronas like almost everyone else. A few steaks, seafood and other high end items went out the door, but it was mostly the usual cheap and demanding crowd.
“Girl, shoulda brought my roller skates”, complained Mitzi in the waitress station, smelling like her period and Right Guard. She slapped the coffee grinder. “Goddamn, why doesn’t this thing ever work?” Ana reached over and jiggled the toggle switch, bringing it to life.
“Order up,” yelled Jimmy.
d. Larsen, the Walk-in
Couldn’t say he rocked, but Jimmy did all right. Of course you don’t have to be sober to flip a burger and drop shoestrings into the fryer. Put a bun, some lettuce, onions pickles and tomato on a plate. Still, he cranked it out, although the kitchen could’ve qualified for disaster relief funds. Trampled fries and crumpled portion control papers underfoot, food spills and scraps everywhere.
Jack was way behind. Ana had to bus her own tables and bring the dirty d’s back to the kitchen. “Hey stoner. We need more cups.” She dropped an overflowing bus tub on the side board, breaking a glass.
Jimmy yelped. “Goddamn it! That’s coming out of your paycheck. Mitzi, order up!” He refreshed his drink from the speed rack and took a snort.
Jack slouched out the back door for a quick hit, Jimmy close behind with glass in hand.
The storm had blown over leaving a blanket of snow and a cold calm. They stood there in shirtsleeves, without noticing.
Jack lit the pipe, sucked one down, and passed it. Jimmy took a deep hit and coughed. “Damn that’s some good shit.” He took another hit, passed the pipe. “Can you score me some?”
Jack shrugged, re-lit the pipe. “Maybe.”
“Shit man, c’mon.”
It sucked having to ask a high school kid to score your dope, but he couldn’t seem to connect any other way. They even cut him off at the liquor store, had to get someone to score that for him, too. The old man had the restaurant stash sewed up tighter than a virgin. Marked each bottle when it came through the door and kept track of every drop poured. He’d be so glad when he got his license back and could blow this place.
Jimmy sighed. “Look, man. Sorry I jumped on your case. It’s just the old man’s all over me these days, and when I saw that custard in there I went postal.”
“Wasn’t me.”
“All right, man. I hear you.” He shook out a Marlboro. “Want one?”
“I got a halfer.” Jack pulled a partially smoked butt from a pack of Spirits.
They lit up and stood in silence exhaling white plumes through an apron of yellow security light. Weren’t half finished when Ana came out to announce a new order.
“Damn.” Jimmy butted his smoke in a sand filled coffee can full of butts and slammed through the rear door.
Ana extended an arm. “Gimme.” Jack passed his cigarette. She took a puff and returned it. “Don’t you have dishes to do?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“You guess?”
“Ana?”
“What?”
“Why are you so mean to me?”
“You think I am?”
“Sometimes, yeah.”
“Suck it up and get back to work. I’m tired of picking up your slack.” With that she wheeled around and took her tight ass through the door.
“You’re not my boss,” Jack told the frigid air.
Dlarsen Walk-In
Jimmy broke down his station, piling pots pans and utensils into the already cluttered dishwashing area. Crap, he knew he was gonna have to take care of his own shit and half the kid’s too, but maybe he’d get some pot out of the deal. Then he could go home and keep the buzz rolling. But he was feeling pretty strange, and damn it was hot. Had to keep moving, though. Play some tunes, that’d help.
Mitzi counted tickets, while Ana divvied tips.
“Sixty one covers. That’s gotta be some kind of record for a Tuesday in the middle of winter.” Mitzi slapped the tickets on the table. “Gawd, my feet are killing me.” She slipped off her sneakers, spread her legs and massaged her calves. “I’d love to get out of this place, but it’s my little sister”.
Ana glanced up from her counting, “Haven’t I heard this before?” And like, please, close your legs.
“ I would’ve left a long time ago if it wasn’t for her. It’s my mom’s crack head boyfriend.”
“What about him?”
“If he laid a hand on Melanie I’d kill him. I swear.”
“And your mom doesn’t count, she gets slapped upside the head?’
“It’s my sister, you know?”
“Yeah, so I heard. Here’s forty eight for you and forty eight for me, with a buck left over. That’ll be Jack’s tip.”
“Ana?”
“What?”
“Why don’t you like me?”
“I never said I didn’t.”
“Yeah, but the way you act.”
“You’re all right. Suck it up and let’s go.”
Ana pushed back from the table just as old man Bixby came in to close out the register. Shit.
“ Hey girls.” He rubbed his hands together and blew on them. “Colder than a witch’s tit out there. Any business tonight?”
“We got slammed.” Mitzi crossed her legs.
“That’s good.” He pulled up a chair, bringing the smell of smoke and a whiff of alcohol to the table. “Hey, you guys know what a walk- in is?”
“ Like a big ass refrigerator”, volunteered Mitzi.
“Yeah that’s one thing”. Bald headed Bixby pulled a cigar from an inside pocket and examined it.
“ I was just watching this special about the paranormal, and they got this guy on there talking about extraterrestrials or some such shit. So, anyway”—he fished around for a lighter and lit the cigar—“so anyway, this guy’s going on about how there are these beings out there from other dimensions or something that come down here and go around disguised like humans. They’re called walk-ins.” He shook his head.
“You ever heard of such a thing? I’m thinking, maybe that describes my Jimmy. What do you think? Jimmy an extraterrestrial, a walk-in or something?”
“He’s something,” said Mitzi.
No shit, thought Ana.
“Where is that boy, anyway?”
They both shrugged.
Stoner Jack passed by with a bus tub.
“Hey, boy. You seen my good for nothing? Huh?”
Jack ducked his head. “No sir.”
Ana shot a look at Mitzi studying the ceiling.
“Girls, excuse me. Gotta take a pee and do the books. Not both at the same time, of course” He pushed back his chair and stood. “Heh. So, where’s that good for nothing anyway?”
He was in the walk-in hunched over on an upturned milk crate, sweating, with queasy stomach and bowels.
Had to clear his head. Stand up. Shit ain’t right. He grabbed at a shelf to pull his self up and looked puzzled at a half empty soufflé cup. What the fuck? He lurched for it.
Mitzi took a visit to the walk-in after Ana left. Old man was still in the office. Stoner boy lost in space. Jimmy could be anywhere. Who cared? Nobody was going to miss her. But she couldn’t miss the stink and Jimmy sprawled face down in a pool of vomit.
She screamed, louder than David Byrne burning down the house.
D Larsen, the Walk In
Ana
Yeah, the guy creeped me out, but he didn’t deserve that. I saw the pictures the investigators took. It was really gross. Dying in the walk-in like that. Mitzi, you know, that really rattled the peanuts in her brain cage. She’s still freaked, but it doesn’t take much with her.
Me? I’m just waiting for the end of school, and I’m outta here. Selling my car and heading to Europe. Screw college. I mean maybe later, but not now. It kinda sucks not having a regular job since old man Bixby closed the restaurant. Put me out of a job, but fuck it. I’m gone anyway.
Mitzi
Oh, gawd, it was just like, oh man, I don’t know. I just thought he was passed out, you know? But then like when the emergency people got there, they said he was dead. In the fucking walk-in of all places. And it was me that had to find him. I’ve never seen a dead person before. They were asking me all these questions, and then I don’t know. They gave me something. I don’t remember.
The good thing is? My mom kicked her boyfriend out and he went to like Kansas or some such shit. Now it’s like I’m moving to Vail where I got some friends renting a condo and they said I could get a job easy, like in a restaurant or cleaning rooms or something. Vail’s supposed to be way cool with lots of rich dudes and stuff. I can hardly wait. My little sister’s gonna be all right. I can always come back and visit. I’ll be so glad to get out of here. I don’t know if I can ever forget what happened, but my mom’s been sharing her pills, and that helps.
Jack
Jimmy was a loser, that’s all I can say. I mean, I’m sorry he had to bite it like that, but it was going to happen one way or the other. Sucked that I lost my job, but it wasn’t my thing anyway.
After all that shit went down, I laid off the smoke. Not that big a deal to quit. Now I’m into yoga and focused on my studies. I’m gonna ace my classes and go for a scholarship.
The standards around here are pretty low. All these farm kids. It’s pathetic. One more year, and I’ll be gone far, far away. Then watch out. I’m gonna shine. Bling bling.
Bixby
They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, but that kid rolled right out of the orchard. Yeah, I loved him and all, but there’s a limit.
Kid was a fuck up since he turned 13. I brought him out here from Palm Beach two years ago after he got busted on a drug charge, then got off with probation.
Figured the country life might put him straight—at least keep him out of trouble. He promised he was staying clean, but you know how that goes. He found his ways. At least he wasn’t tweaking—at least as far as I could tell.
Didn’t have any friends of either sex that I could tell, but he got his shit somewhere. I always wondered if he was gay.
Good thing is, his mom wasn’t around for this. She never could set boundaries. It wasn’t my fault. I tried to give him discipline and keep him on track, but Jimmy was wired wrong. I’m not sure he was really mine.
So now I can’t find a cook and have to close down the business. Nobody wants to buy. Whole thing makes me wanna puke.
Insurance is the true good thing. I got fire, flood—everything but acts of God, and He doesn’t figure into this story.
I hear the Virgin Islands are a good place to be. Maybe I’ll check it out when shit settles down around here.
