Loving and supporting Yulie did not stop him from using drugs.
Yulie was the only man that Mary had been with since her husband had left her, and she was reticent about going with him. But there was something about him she found irresistible. Perhaps it was his vulnerability, or perhaps it was that he was such a beautiful person in spite of his drug use, as beautiful, she thought, or perhaps more so, then was his voice. Maybe, in retrospect, it was that she knew one day he’d check out, that from the start she knew what she was up against. Maybe that’s what she liked about Bill, that he was taken and temporary and just a…
She hadn’t meant to fall in love with Yulie. She certainly hadn’t meant to fall in love with Bill Wynn. Nevertheless, love had struck her both times. She was angry about this, but then despite knowing better, she let it happen anyway. Sometimes she told herself that come the summer Bill would be gone and she’d be free from all the burdens and dangers. The burdens and dangers weren’t from him. They were from her own flesh and blood, from Eddie, her son, who simply did not like her being with a white man.
There were other dangers too. Out in her neighborhood it was dangerous for her to be going with a white boy. Late at night, in his car, if they were stopped, that could be a catastrophe. Not only could Bill be sent back to jail for violating his probation, but she could be who-knew-what? If that occurred, she would be at the police officer’s discretion and that, she knew, was always dangerous. What a screwed up world, she often thought.
The preparations for Mr. Jim’s party were relatively simple. Mr. Bowman had fixed it so that they could buy almost everything in frozen form and all Mary and Alfrieda had to do was heat it up and set it into the serving pans. This way they could attend the party which was important because both of them were favorites of Mr. Jim’s. As well, from church and from outside church, they knew his family.
So the delivery came in, and Mary checked it out, seeing to it that everything was stored away properly. Looking at what came in, she estimated it would take less than an hour’s work to set it all up and have it ready. Every now and then she and Alfrieda might have to leave the party room and head back up to the kitchen for replenishments, but waitresses would be able to carry down the pans and set them into the steam tables. Bill would help out too, as would Robert. Mr. Bowman had promised to open up the bar so that they could all have a good time.
Lunch was very busy. Dinner, like the night before, was gangbusters again. Jimmy had to work late. Bill had to work late and he was late heading out to get Mary. Being late did not deter him. Just about nothing could have deterred him.
When Marie had come in in the afternoon, she’d spent the first half hour with Henry Lee. They messed around in the staff bathroom, which was nothing unusual. Bill stayed in the meat room to cut meat when really he should have been upstairs helping Mary set up for the dinner service. It wasn’t the first time Henry Lee and Marie had caused him to be late going up, and Bill knew it probably wouldn’t be the last. So he drank bourbon and cut meat and worked through until Henry Lee and Marie finished.
“About time you got up here,” said Mary when Bill had appeared in the doorway. “What you been doing down there?” she asked.
“Ain’t me,” Bill had said. “Ask Henry Lee and Marie what they been doing.” He had taken a quick inventory of where Mary was at and jumped in with what he knew had to be done.
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Mr. Jim was a humble man. He was a quiet and soft-spoken man. At sixty-five, he was still trim and fit. He had a full head of woolly-white hair and sported a ragamuffin white goatee. Most often he was smiling and happy and nothing that happened in the kitchen ever perturbed him. He had been married all his adult life. He and his wife had four children, six grandchildren and three great-grandchildren so far. On many levels he was the American success story and he’d lived the American dream.
He’d begun working at the steakhouse almost from its opening because he was a friend of Robert’s. Robert had been a friend of Mr. Bowman’s long before Mr. Bowman owned the steakhouse, and when Mr. Bowman told Robert he was thinking of buying it, Robert told him he could certainly help staff the kitchen. Together with Mr. Jim, Robert had put the whole kitchen staff together. It was a good staff, a loyal one, one that was loyal to Robert, to Mr. Jim, to Mr. Bowman and to the restaurant. Only two cooks had left voluntarily. That was because they had not come in from the beginning and did not share the family values that Robert and Mr. Jim had instilled. Those cooks, when they left, were no great loss.
Then came the second restaurant. Mr. Jim and Robert staffed that one too. Along came Yulie.
Mary had loved Yulie. But Yulie was a drug addict and drugs killed him. Robert knew Yulie and his family from church. Yulie was never married. He had two sisters who went to the church, as did his mother and his nieces. Yulie went because his mother forced him to go, and even though he was old enough to easily say no, he was respectful. Mary, Bea, Henry Lee and his wife Alfrieda, along with all their kids, went to the church too. Robert directed the church choir. Mary, Bea, Alfrieda and Yulie all sang in the choir. As messed up as Yulie was on drugs, that’s how beautiful his voice was.
Mr. Jim and Mary had watched Yulie. They watched him self-destruct, and they watched him work, and they watched him self-destruct as he worked. Oftentimes he would be so messed up that he would fall to his knees. The cooks on either side of him would pick him up by his elbows so that he could keep working. Rarely did he miss a step or a beat. He never fell behind in the rushes.
“The boy gonna die,” Mr. Jim had told Mary frequently. “Ain’t nothing we can do,” he’d said.
Mary would cry. “I know,” she’d respond. “Goddamn world.”
“Ain’t the world,” Mr. Jim would say. “Ain’t his color neither. Can’t say why some people are weak like that, but he’s one of them and he’s gonna die.”
“That why I love him?” Mary would ask.
Mr. Jim would hug her then hold her tight. “I done taught him how to cook and I taught him how to be a man and stand up on his own feet. It’s the goddamn drugs. Maybe Mr. Charlie responsible for that.”
Mr. Charlie. Mary’s boy Eddie, her oldest, referred to Bill as Mr. Charlie. To his face he called him whitey or cracker. Eddie didn’t like Bill, probably more because he went with his mother than because he was white. Eddie’d heard Henry Lee’s story about how he lost his leg, about how he’d gotten charged but the white man hadn’t even though the white man picked the fight and drew a knife first. Being younger and understanding less, Eddie was vicious, more so than Henry Lee or the gainfully employed black men. This was because Eddie had nothing to lose, at least not yet.
“I’m sick of it all,” Mary would tell Mr. Jim sometimes, specifically referring to life in general and to Yulie in particular.
“All you can do is love him and support him,” Mr. Jim would say.
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If you’ve made it into adulthood with both parents still alive, you’re pretty lucky. If you were born into a family that is fairly well-to-do, where both parents are in the home and where church values prevail at least somewhat, you’re pretty lucky. If your family actually goes to church, or synagogue, or wherever your faith takes you to pray, you’re even more lucky. But if you’ve had a parent die overnight without any warning or any inclination that such a thing would happen, it’s a different world. If your parents are divorced or you’re born into a single-parent family that is struggling financially, it’s a different world. When all is said and done, everyone’s reality is somewhat different, and although there are certain similarities and certain patterns which tend to prevail among the different groupings, there are also certain statistical realities which go along with the group to which you belong.
The studies are pretty convincing. Children in families with both parents in the home and a middle-class income tend to fare better than those in single-parent families that struggle financially. In general, the kids in two-parent families do better than the kids in single-parent families altogether. This applies across the board. It means they do better in school, they are more likely to get post-secondary education to establish themselves as middle-class wage earners, and they tend to have less teenage pregnancy as well as a lower crime rate. When you add in going to church at least once a week, these children do even better making the achievement gap even greater. On top of all of that, their substance-abuse rate is much lower too.
Overall then, on the other hand, those kids who come from non-traditional families, no matter which way their family is non-traditional, who come from families that struggle on a daily basis just to make ends meet, where there is no father in the house and the mother is working-class with little education, tend to have much more difficult lives. Their substance-abuse rates are much higher, their high school dropout rates are much higher, their likelihood to be arrested is much higher and their likelihood to make it into the middle class is much lower. Their suicide rates are higher and their life expectancy rates are much lower.
Did you know that the nuclear family is dying? Well, not really, but did you know that nearly forty percent of all children are born to single mothers? Would it surprise you to discover that the rate is much higher or lower based upon your ethnicity? For example, whites have about a twenty-five percent rate, Hispanics about a forty percent rate and non-Hispanic blacks about a seventy percent rate. It’s a different world.
What does all this mean? Altogether, it’s nothing new. It’s nothing that’s not common knowledge. It’s nothing that can generally be disputed since it is factual, at least as presented here. Where the difficulty enters into it is in the interpretation of the facts. Pretty much no surprises there. One finds that the Democrats and the Republicans interpret these facts quite differently. One also finds that the lefties and righties depict the effects of these facts on our society differently as well. So, who’s to be believed?
Therein lies the real problem. Rather than arguing over the interpretation of facts and the effects on our society both sides should be working together to find ways to lessen the apparent gaps so that for the one and for the other it’s not such a different world.
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The last thing Mary did before leaving the meat room was tell Bill to make sure he changed his pants. Mary was superstitious about spilled blood, and so far, every time Bill had not listened to her he had cut himself. He wasn’t about to listen to her this time either, but something in his gut told him he should. However, like inpatient youth, he disregarded his gut and went back upstairs without having changed.
First thing, Mary saw that blood.
“Boy,” she said, “I have to take you down there and make you change myself?”
“It’s just a little blood,” Bill said.
“You want to be able to take me to The Upper Room?” she asked.
Bill thought about it for a moment wondering why she was making such a big deal. But he knew for sure that he wanted to take her to The Upper Room, so he did an about-face and went back downstairs.
When everything was all set upstairs and Mary was well on the way to having everything in order for the lunch, Bill went back to the meat room. First thing he did was go to the drawer where he kept the bourbon. He took the bottle from under the towels, where it was always kept, unscrewed the cap, took himself a long drink. He was tired, but not overly so. He’d been able to get a solid three hours sleep at Lorraine’s house.
He remembered. As he remembered he took another drink from the bottle. He could see that during the lunch break he would have to go out to the liquor store to replenish their supply. He hoped Henry Lee would be able to chip in for the new bottle. Regardless, they would get a bottle.
What he remembered was how Lorraine cooed when he started in on her feet again. But he’d known he wasn’t long for the world and he’d fallen quickly off to sleep. Being considerate, Lorraine tiptoed out of the room, careful not to disturb him. When he woke to her alarm and they said goodbye, she didn’t bring up anything about him owing her.
He had drugs in his locker. He was going to give Marie some downers and he had some uppers in case he needed them. For him and Mary he had a special stash that consisted of Quaaludes and Black Beauties. He planned to bring some nice red wine for them so they could lounge on the sofa and sail into whatever they were going into.
While he was thinking, even before he put away the bourbon, Mary came into the meat room. She saw him kind of staring out into space.
“Lost in thoughts?” she asked.
“Kind of.”
“Should I ask what you’re thinking?”
“About you and me. About tonight.”
“Yeah? Well don’t get too lost in it. My boy giving me a hard time about it.”
Bill shrugged his shoulders. “It is what it is,” he said.
Mary stepped close to him and kissed him. “I hate you,” she whispered in his ear. Then she bit him on his earlobe.
That’s how Henry Lee found them when he walked into the meat room. “Damn,” he said. Then, seeing that the bourbon was still out, he reached for it and took a long drink. “Gonna be a good day,” he said cheerfully. “ Want me to leave you two alone?”
“Nah,” said Bill. “She was just telling me she hates me.”
“Yeah. I can see that,” Henry Lee said.
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No one was happy to be at work. Bea did her regular thing, which was start coffee, get settled into her uniform, come upstairs to drink coffee while looking at the racing pages in the newspaper. Bill and Mary did the same. They got changed and came up to drink coffee. But unlike Bea, while they drank their coffee they made a list of what was needed from downstairs and another list of all the things needed to be done. Bill had to cut a round. That would be the first thing he would do. While he was doing that, Mary would start the soup.
Tommy shuffled into the kitchen just before Bill went down. Mr. Jim was retiring in another day and they were throwing him a little party down in the party room. Some of the people from the west side were stopping over. Tommy wanted to make sure Mary could fix the hors d’oeuvres they would serve. Bea was responsible for decorating the party room. The restaurant was shutting down for two hours in both locations so all the kitchen help could attend. Shy as he was, Mr. Jim had said he didn’t want any parties, but they had set it up anyway and invited his family.
“Mr. Jim taught me how to be a good cook,” Mary said to Bill later, after he had cut the round and it was settled in an oven cooking away. “He also taught me not to fool around where I work. I messed up with you.” She was sitting on the counter in the meat room, like she always did, her legs dangling down over the edge of the counter, her feet crossed at the ankles. She was swinging her legs a bit, kind of like rocking them and herself back and forth.
“Yeah, so?” Bill said. He was cleaning up meat blood and stopped to look at her. She was staring down at her feet.
“So I’m just saying.”
“Saying what? That you’re really looking forward to being with me at The Upper Room again tonight?”
“I’m wondering where you slept last night. And I’m wondering how bad you’re gonna break my heart when you quit this place and move away. New Year’s already here. The summer be here before we know it. That girl of yours be graduated, you’ll be married and off you’ll go.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Bill was almost finished cleaning the blood. He’d spilled a little on his pants, no big deal, but Mary told him he needed to change. He pooh-poohed it, told her he’d slept at Lorraine’s.
“Well why you want to keep going with me?”
“Her kids were there. It was all innocent. We worked really late cause we had late tables and then it was just easier. I slept on her couch.”
“I never should have started with you.”
“You didn’t start and I could say the same thing. But I’m not sorry. I really, really like you.”
“And the others?”
“What about them?”
“You tell me.”
“Nothing to tell. Drenovis told me Norma was a stick it anywhere girl and he put her on me cause of Eleanor. Remember that? Remember Eleanor? Lexi’s young and stupid, like me. She was a get-even-with-Drenovis girl. Bea is Bea.”
“I got feelings you know.”
Bill took the blood-stained dish towel he was using to wipe up the blood and threw it into the wash sink. Then he stepped over by where Mary sat. He moved up against her, forcing her to uncross her feet and let him get close.
“I have feelings too. If I told you my feelings you’d cry. I’m not stupid. I never dreamt, not once in my whole short life, that I’d be doing this kind of work, that I’d be here. Meeting Robert was dumb luck. And I’ll never be sorry for where you and I are at.” He leaned in and kissed her, softly at first then a long, deep and fiercely passionate kiss.
“Don’t know if I can wait until tonight,” he said.
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Lorraine’s toes were pretty and her feet were soft. Bill worked on the first foot methodically, taking it in both hands and gently, but not too gently, squeezing along the sides and then on the top.
“Be better with some oil,” he said.
“Be better with the kids not here,” Lorraine said. “Then you could put the oil all over.”
“Very funny.”
“Not meant to be funny.”
“We could still play with oil.”
“Let me get you some underclothes so you can shower.”
“Let me finish your feet.”
“Do it later, after we shower.”
Bill got up and went to the bathroom. He was already in the shower when Lorraine came by with the underclothes. She knocked on the door then left the clothes on the closed toilet seat.
“I’ll start some coffee,” she said.
Bill enjoyed a long shower. He had not slept in nearly two days now and he was tired but not too spaced out yet. Taking inventory of himself, he thought he could always pop a pill, upper if Lorraine kept him up, downer if they just went off to sleep.
He dried himself on a fluffy, clean towel Lorraine had left him and dressed quickly in the new underclothes and back into his jeans. When he came out of the bathroom and into the living room, Lorraine was in a house dress and robe, sitting on the sofa, sipping coffee.
“I’ll grab a quick shower then be right back,” she said. “I burned most of the stuff he left. It made a pretty good bonfire out in a campgrounds I know of. But there were some fresh packs of stuff which I tucked away. Now I’m glad I didn’t chuck ’em.”
Lorraine had left him a mug of coffee. Working together as they did, she knew how he took it. Bill sat down as she got up. He took a sip and lay back.
“Feel free to fall asleep, I’ll set an alarm for five-thirty and won’t disturb you if you do.”
Bill didn’t fall asleep. Eyes closed, first thing that came to mind was what he and Mary had to do in the morning. Since they’d been more busy than expected, it was a longer list than usual, and then on top of it was New Year’s Eve coming along. They had a party booked in the party room which meant even more prep of different stuff. At least it was a set meal so it could be served and except for replenishing items, the work was done. They were opening late on New Year’s Day, only doing dinner and running a prime rib special.
Next thing that came to mind was how messed up he was. He didn’t dwell on these things, but somewhere in there, every now and then, he knew the anxiety and worry that attacked him constantly were not supposed to be doing that. He knew he drank too much and used too many drugs. He knew it was totally off the hook that he messed around with women even as he was just about to be married, when he had a fiancé, Jesus Christ. They were just another type of drug, a make-me-feel-better drug. Still, on some level, after not being wanted and accepted for most of his short life, it was nice to be in demand.
Jesus Christ, he said to himself again. It was all messed up. He was all messed up.
He was almost dozing off when Lorraine returned. She carried blankets for him, and covered him with one, but he sat up and pulled her down next to him. He kissed her, a long, passionate kiss. She kissed back but did not let it linger too long.
“The kids,” she whispered.
So she turned off the light and they both lay down on the sofa, she on one end, he on the other. He took up that first foot again and started into a full foot massage.
The next thing he knew it was five-thirty and Lorraine’s alarm was ringing.
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Spring snow shivers shrubs
But it’s supposed to be warming
Lovely New England
Pick up a copy of my published works here: Books by Peter Weiss.
So an Orthodox Rabbi was asked how Orthodox Judaism had managed to survive all these years without changing any. The answer came amazingly quickly and was stunningly simple.
“If you don’t want anything to change, you don’t change anything,” he said.
Period.
In our society we have this discussion all the time. You can see it on the news every day. It’s generally a question of where you draw the line. In fact, in today’s world, one of the most dramatic examples of this involves free speech. If it’s okay for a leftist activist to speak at a university, how can it not be okay for a right-wing conservative to speak at the same university? Or, where do you draw the line?
Common sense says either you allow both to speak, or you allow neither one to speak. But if you don’t want the right to free speech to break down in America, you can’t pick a side according to an agenda.
Orthodox Judaism has made some adaptations. With the advent of electricity came non-stop elevators in high rise buildings so an Orthodox Jew can now live on the forty-fifth floor of an apartment building in New York and go out to synagogue on Sabbath since it is not considered riding (like riding in a car) and it isn’t considered work (since one doesn’t have to push a button to pick the floor to stop on). Similarly, slow cookers and crock pots allow food to stay warm all Sabbath long without one actually cooking.
Adaptation is okay. After all, it is how the human race (should we call it hu-people?) has come about and gotten to where we’ve gotten. But… when it starts to go against reasoning that’s a different matter.
English Language Learners (ELLs) have caused a dramatic breakdown in our language. More precisely, allowing multiple languages to be spoken by offering accommodations to people living in America such that they don’t have to learn the language is what has done so. Again, reasonable adaptations to the language are expected, but out and out grammatical breakdowns and misinterpretations are not acceptable.
ELLs are not to blame, of course. But the global nature of things has magnified the effects of multi-languages being spoken in America on dysfluency. So, for example, when you call your credit card company and someone in India answers the phone to handle your customer service issue, you may not only not understand him/her due to his/her accent, but you may also be subjected to a host of incorrect English speaking, misunderstandings, non-understandings and even, perhaps, confusion. Sooner or later, the language breaks down. It breaks down much more rapidly under these conditions.
The internet is another way this happens, again because the person writing the text you are reading may have extremely limited English language skills and, after all, the work is being outsourced since it is less expensive. The company doing the text might be located anywhere in the world, but usually of course they are in countries where the labor rate is much lower than here. There’s no guarantee that the editor, if there is one, will pick up any errors.
The sum effect of this, over time, is a breakdown in the language. With errors occurring being overlooked, sooner or later an error occurs in an area where it actually affects meaning and/or interpretation of the wording.
Bingo! Then it depends upon what the definition of is is.
Once again, what is most germane in this discussion of the breakdown of language and reasoning is who benefits from it. If one can say nonsensical things and not be called out for them and one can put forth wholly illogical arguments without being shot down for them, language and reasoning go into a free-fall, which is kind of like where they are now.
You have to ask: who benefits from this?
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Lorraine and Victoria came into the kitchen talking to each other. They were bringing in the dishes from their tables that had not yet been brought in.
In his civvies, standing in the kitchen right before where the line began, he watched them drop off what was in their hands.
“I hope they don’t want more coffee,” Lorraine said.
“Don’t people understand we have lives too?” Victoria asked.
“And kids?”
“I hope they tip well. Really be a pain if they stiff us.”
“I hope I made good money tonight. We worked hard.”
“Me too.”
“Let’s see if we can hurry them along. I’m tired and my dogs are killing me,” Lorraine said. “I could sleep forever.”
“Me too,” Victoria said as they headed out of the kitchen through the automatic doors.
Bill walked through the line to make sure everything was shut down. Once he was assured it was, he went around back where Mary did the prep cooking and made sure everything back there was turned off. He also double checked all the ovens to make sure nothing was inside any of them. All was in good order. He stopped inside Mary’s walk-in too where he double checked that he’d closed the film on all the food he’d put away. When the food was still hot, he always left one corner of the film open so it could continue to cool. When cool enough, the film could be tightly closed. Anything still warm was left on shelving that allowed for underneath circulation.
Before he shut down the exhaust fans, Bill went out into the dining room to talk with Tommy. Tommy was nowhere to be seen. They still had several customers at the bar and Bill could see three tables were still occupied. He surmised Tommy was in the office and headed that way, but before he got there the door opened and Tommy came out.
“Looking for me?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Everything all set?”
“Yup.”
“Well, you can go. I’ll shut the exhaust fans down. See you in the morning.”
“I’ll lock up the back and come out the front,” Bill said.
On his way back into the kitchen, Bill stopped at the bar. He asked Bebe for a beer and took the opened bottle with him into the kitchen where he leaned up against the serving counter and stood drinking. A moment later Lorraine walked in to tell him the customers were getting ready to leave. She took a sip of his beer and told him to wait, that it would take her about twenty minutes to close out. She wrote her address on a piece of scrap paper for in case he wanted to meet her there.
Then they were ensconced in the warmth of Lorraine’s living room. She checked on the kids first thing and came back to Bill with an armful of blankets and a pillow which she threw down on the sofa.
“Long goddamn night,” she said, plopping down on the sofa. “Kids are fast asleep.” She kicked off her shoes and without any inhibition reached up under her skirt and peeled off her pantyhose and panties. Bare legged and barefooted, she wriggled all her toes and leaned back into the comforts of the couch. “Wanna take a shower?” she asked. “I can probably find you some clean skivvies and socks and stuff.”
“That would be great.”
“Rub my feet first, please.”
Lorraine took a pillow and placed it behind her in a corner of the sofa then leaned back into it and swung her legs up on Bill’s lap. Bill took one foot in his hands. As he did so, he drew her legs apart slightly so he could look up between them. Lorraine had closed her eyes to his touch and lay there relaxed. She moved the foot he was not touching so her legs were more spread.
“Enjoy the view,” she whispered.
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Bill and Marie didn’t take long in the meat room. Bill didn’t have to do anything. Marie didn’t want him to do anything. Marie did everything. And when they were done, she stood before him and smiled.
“When that bastard husband of mine kiss me hello, I’ll be smiling inside,” Marie said.
“What if he don’t kiss you?”
“I’ll kiss him.” Marie laughed. “Don’t mean shit to a train,” she said. Then, “Maybe tomorrow you take care of me by bringing me some good drugs.”
“I’m not a dealer. What you want?”
“Downers. Not weed.”
“If I can, I’ll bring you a couple.”
“Good.”
Marie’s dress was fully open now. Bill reached under her half slip and took a good feel of her. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the counter.
“Want me to keep going?” Bill asked when he could feel her reacting to his touch.
“I’ll be quick,” she said.
“That was for you,” Bill said, talking to her back as they headed toward the store room and staff bathrooms, her in the lead.
“I know. It was considerate. I didn’t expect it.”
“What did you expect?”
“Nothing more than what I did.”
Reaching the store room, Bill slapped her gently on the butt. “See you upstairs,” he said.
Bill was in the midst of draining the second fryer when Marie came up. He noted her walking over to where the coffee pot was, but he paid her no mind and kept on with his work. When she finished what she was doing, which was making sure everything on her station was properly covered and clean, she stopped on the line by Bill to say goodnight.
“I left the coffee on the warmer in case they need any more. See you tomorrow.”
“Don’t get hit anymore,” Bill said.
“Ain’t always up to me, but I’ll do my best.”
Alone in the kitchen with no orders coming in and everything else done, Bill worked quickly draining the fryer, emptying the hot grease into the barrel outside then rinsing and cleaning the fryer. When it was all set, he cut open the cardboard case the cube of grease was in and spread the cellophane bag wide so he could dump out the white cube. Once the cube was sitting atop the gas jets, he got back on his knees, made sure the gas was turned off and lit the pilot light. That done, he fired up the fryer so the grease would melt. He did not want to leave the cube sitting there as a cube since it would attract and collect any type of particles that were in the air. Watching the cube start to melt, he took the two pots over to the pot washer station.
Since Bill’s first job in the kitchen had been as a pot washer, he did not leave the pots there dirty. No pot washer was happy when he came in in the morning and found dirty pots to wash, especially if he had left none dirty at quitting time. So Bill ran the hot water, washed the small pot first then the big stock pot. His last work for the night was to hang them both up on the pot racks where they could dry, rinse out the sink and make sure it was clean, and then double check everything to make sure all food was put away, all stoves and ovens turned off, all gas jets turned off (though the pilot lights stayed on), and finally switch off the exhaust fans. Except for the exhaust fans he did this in his kitchen whites. Then he went down to change.
