So I’m going to take a little break here for the weekend. I’d like to thank all of you for following the blog. Pass it on to your friends and have them pass it on to their friends.
Have a great Labor Day weekend.
Bill Wynn and more next week.
Take care.
Peter
Books by Peter Weiss.
The snow had not melted but total accumulation was less than two inches and so it would not in any way discourage customers from coming out. The lunch had been good. Dinner would probably be good. Over by the convection oven, Bill started pulling out the hot potatoes.
Then the steam table was all set. Everything had been checked and double-checked and all that was left for Bill to do was to cart up the meat. He dragged his weary ass down the stairs and popped in on Henry Lee in the meat room.
Henry Lee had spent a good deal of time cleaning up the meat room. He had gone twice into the deep freeze to make sure that the meat he wanted frozen was in there and the meat he was going to use but had not yet cut was in the walk-in. He had cleaned and put the scale away and even had time to talk with Marie. But he had not fooled around with Marie, not because he didn’t want to, but because Marie was busy complaining about her husband. Henry Lee, for his part, did not want to hear about it. It turned him off so he listened with a deaf ear as he went about his business.
Bill and Henry Lee took a moment to get high in the deep freeze. They talked over what Marie had said. Bill asked if she’d said anything about him and her from the night before. Henry Lee said no. Bill asked if Henry Lee wanted to hear about it. Henry Lee said no. Henry Lee said he didn’t care, that if Bill and Marie were getting it on that was better for him. Alfreda, he said, was giving him a hard time and he was getting tired of the whole situation. But then, as the weed kicked in and both their eyes glazed over, even there in the deep freeze blowing out the steam-smoke that came from their hot breath in the cold air, he kind of smiled at Bill and made a remark as to what a fine piece of ass she was.
So there they were in the meat room. Henry Lee immediately went back to cutting meat. Bill immediately went to carting meat trays, two at a time, up on his shoulder and on up the stairs. He would lay the trays on top of his meat reach-in, stack the old steaks already upstairs either in front of the new ones or on top of them, as the case was given the space on the tray. Then he would slide the tray into its slot in the reach-in, always the same slot, always in the same place and same order, never a change.
That was one of the first and most important rules of being efficient as a line cook, really as any cook, in a professional kitchen. When it got busy, and it always did, there was no time to look for anything. Everything had to be where you knew it was so that you could reach for it without having to think about it. Part of that same rule was that if you finished something, anything, you replenished it immediately. This meant that if something like the film, Saran wrap, ran out, you got a new box, opened it, set it for immediate use without having to do anything first.
Done. Another day’s prep work, another lunch, another meat delivery, another set-up for dinner. Mary’s work was finished. Bea’s work was finished. Bill’s work, until the dinner started, was finished. Marie was working at her station. She and Bea had set everything in place, Marie moving things around so they were exactly the way she wanted them. Bill took a moment to go back into the office and call home, the second call. His fiancé was there, answered the phone and they spoke. The call ended with her telling Bill that she was spending the night at Tim’s. Tim, she said, was horribly depressed.
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Bill hadn’t called home all day. Something in the back of his head was kicking at him. It had to do with Jack, with the notion that he was not gay, but bi, and if he were bi, maybe he was…
Tim was in the closet until he wasn’t in the closet anymore. It was kind of easy to gauge Tim’s persuasion by his appearance and affects, but Bill understood one never really knew until one knew. Bill would come to understand that he never knew anything until he knew it, and even then looks could be deceiving. Matters could get complicated. So even when you knew something, maybe you didn’t really know it at all.
Some things you did know, however. A recipe was a recipe. A fact was a fact. The fact was he had a record. That fact didn’t change. In fact, it wouldn’t change even after he’d had that record expunged some twenty years later. The interpretations of facts were what caused issues, but there was nothing anyone could do about that.
Jack wasn’t bi. Bill knew it. Bill knew he was gay, a hundred percent. Like many of the gays at the time, he surrounded himself with girls, usually very pretty girls too. That was to hide who he really was. It was also because the girls of the time liked hanging around with gay guys because they could get boy perspectives without any sexual entanglements. And if a girl really wanted to know what a guy was thinking, who was the best one to ask? A gay guy, of course, because then she could get the male perspective without any repercussions. It was an easy way for girls to find out if a guy liked them. That’s what most of the questions were about anyway, that and about what guys liked for their birthdays or for other assorted types of things. Then there was always the sex talk where the girls could check out if guys liked this or that, or liked it this way or that.
So if something in the back of Bill’s mind gnawed at him, even though he knew it didn’t mean anything much, it was still there and it wasn’t Jack. It was still there even as he played with Mary and Bea and Mary and Bea together. It was still there as he flirted with Lexi, and he would discover it would still be there later this evening when Lorraine was closing girl.
After the meat delivery, after making sure the line was completely set up and Mary’s work was all done, that’s when he went into the office to call home. Luckily, or not, his fiancé wasn’t in so he didn’t have to say anything, discuss anything, do anything. He went back to the kitchen where the devil was working inside him.
“How many pounds of meat came in?” Mary asked.
“Little over fourteen hundred,” Bill said.
“You got it all stowed away?”
“Yup.”
“Henry Lee finishing up?”
“He’s working,” said Bill. “But I think he’s got a lot of work he wants to get done, especially since the Buckeyes are home this weekend and we’re probably going to be busy. I think he’s trying to get a good head start.”
“Well,” said Mary, “we better do all the breading tomorrow. And don’t you be taking none of that that stupid stuff. Although, I have to admit, you’re kind of cute when you get messed up.”
Bill smiled. He knew it was about time to take out the baked potatoes. He knew it was about time to cart over the prime rib and set it up for carving by the steam table. He knew it was about time to double check all the frozen items to make sure they had enough to get through the night. He knew it was about time to start carting up the meat from downstairs.
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Mary was busy at her stoves when they came back into the kitchen. She was checking the rib that was in the oven and stirring the things that were on top of the stoves. Most everything for the rest of the day was working and pretty soon she would be ready to chill.
Bea was cleaning up her station, changing the pots that the salad dressings were stored in, getting ready to replenish everything that Marie would need for the dinner. If the dinner meal was like the lunch, they were going to be busy. For waitresses, being busy was great. For the owner, being busy was great. Kitchen help made the same money slow or busy. Overall good business for the cooks was good because the size of their year-end bonus was based upon gross sales.
Marie came in at four. She was wearing a dress, something she rarely did, and she was wearing dark glasses. To Bill, who saw her first when she stopped in to say hello, she looked like a ragamuffin, so skinny that the dress hung straight down on her as if she had no shape. Another time, other circumstances, she could have passed for a crackhead.
Bill wondered what was with the dark glasses. He wondered if her husband had hit her, but she dispelled that notion quickly when she took them off.
“No, he didn’t hit me,” she said before he could say anything. “He didn’t come home till this afternoon, just before I had to leave for here. He didn’t even say hello to the kids. He just went straight off to bed. I’d be pissed if I wasn’t glad. That’s messed up, huh?”
Bill thought of his own circumstance at home last night and said, “Nah.”
Marie passed on down the line and went over to her station where Bea was working. “I need anything from downstairs?” she asked.
“Nah,” said Bea. “I got everything done. You’re all set except you could make a tray of setups for the hamburgers.”
“Pies and everything taken care of?”
“Yeah, all the salads and all the desserts. You can go hang out with your boy downstairs,” Bea said, almost as if she were instigating.
“Well, I’ll be up in a few then.” Marie did an about face and walked back through the line. She stopped mid-way where she could see to the back and called hello to Mary. When she heard Mary return the hello, she headed on past Bill, out the kitchen door and down the stairs.
Just a moment after she was gone, the meat delivery arrived. Bill heard the horn, then the driver appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. Bill said hello and told him he’d be right with him.
Mary had heard the horn too. She saw the driver hanging at the doorway. She walked around to the line to see what Bill was up to, which was really nothing more than setting up the steam table for which he’d already brought over the inserts. She told him go on down and let Henry Lee know, that she would put on the baked potatoes and finish setting up the steam table. Bill acknowledged her with a nod and went on down.
On his way to the meat room, Bill opened the door to the staff ladies’ bathroom. Marie was in her bra and slip, just starting to put on her kitchen dress.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Fine,” Marie said. She smiled at Bill. “We can talk later when it’s quiet.”
In the meat room, Bill told Henry Lee the delivery was there. Henry Lee was getting ready to cut short loins. They didn’t always serve T-Bones and club steaks, but they ran them as specials most of the time. Henry Lee was cutting them for the next day and they were running them on the weekend too. He carted the two loins he had out on his table back into the walk-in and set up the scale to weigh the meat.
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“About when hell freezes over,” said Bill.
“Right,” said Alfreda. “You mean like when we get a chance?”
Bill did not answer. He began plating the burgers. Seeing this, Alfreda went back down the line to the fryer and picked up the now golden-brown fries. Like an experienced line cook, she shook the basket so the grease fell from the French fries. Then, without any hesitation, she took the basket and shook fries onto each plate.
“See? See what a good team we make?” She smiled at Bill. In her own mind she was thinking that the next chance would come soon. In his mind, Bill was thinking that Henry Lee was her husband and that no matter how he sliced it, it was wrong, not to mention something that would put the attention, already apparent from the interactions with the crew, into the stratosphere.
He tapped the bell when the plates were up under the plate warmer. A moment later Lexi came into the kitchen. She put metal rims on top of the plates and stacked them on a tray. “Thanks,” she said.
“You working through?” Bill asked.
“Yep, and then I’m out of here. Too bad you’re working late.”
“Yeah, too bad he is,” said Alfreda. She half smiled, half leered at Lexi. Lexi did a polite smile, hoisted the tray and walked out of the kitchen.
“You got no qualms about doing her,” said Alfreda. “So what’s the problem?”
“How many times?” said Bill. “How many times we got to go through this?”
“I know you doing Marie too. My wonderful husband’s doing her. So what’s wrong if we do each other? It’s all good, and what’s good to you is good for you.”
“Jesus Christ,” said Bill. “Just plain Jesus Christ.”
So when they were in the van, just him and her, after Henry Lee had shelved the trays he’d carried and headed back downstairs, she cornered Bill and kissed him, making sure to force her tongue into his mouth. While she kissed him she reached down to fondle him, took herself a long, copious feel. “I’ve got good hands,” she said, “and you already know all my other parts are good.”
“Sometimes,” Bill said, “it’s just easier to yield than it is to shield. So I’m not going to fight you anymore. Let’s just be careful because we don’t need the grief.”
“About goddamn time.” Quickly, making sure so as not to get caught, she took Bill’s hand and slid it up her kitchen dress for him to cop a feel of her. She guided his fingers exactly the way she wanted them to go but did not keep them there long. “We’ll set the time,” she said, “or we’ll just know when we’ve come to a time.”
All the meat loaded, Alfreda stood with Henry Lee outside the closed van and hugged and kissed him. She did this right in front of Bill and made it sensual, caring and loving. “I love you sweetie,” she said to her husband. “Don’t be too late so we can get some.” She cutely shook her bootie.
“Love you too, baby,” said Henry Lee. “Don’t promise nothing, but I’ll be home soon as I can.”
“You got a joint?”
Henry Lee looked to Bill. Bill shook his head yes and headed back into the restaurant so he could go downstairs and get a joint from his locker. When he returned he discreetly slipped it into her hand. As their hands met, Alfreda squeezed Bill’s hand and said thank you. Then she kissed her husband again, walked to the driver’s side of the van, got in and drove off.
“Women,” Henry Lee said. “Next up, I got to deal with Marie. What a witch she is.”
“I wouldn’t know,” said Bill.
“Yeah you would,” said Henry Lee.
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In light of the Special Prosecutor and in consideration for those who are pleading guilty, here’s the anatomy of a guilty plea when you’re coerced into making one. I’m re-posting this now given the Manafort trial and Michael Cohen deal.
Regardless of your political bent, how can anyone believe anything? How can the crazed political agenda of the left and left-leaning media be allowed to usurp a presidency, to present a host of lies and innuendo without themselves being held to the same scrutiny the right and Republican President are being held to? Allowing this, allowing crazed mob mentality to run amok among our leaders is the real threat to America. The saying is: when you point a finger at someone, three fingers are pointing back at you.
Ohio State University, 1970. More than six hundred would be arrested. Most of them would have their cases dismissed because of entrapment. I was the first person arrested.
The demonstrators were sitting on the gates to the campus. The gates were open and while demonstrators were hindering traffic, the road was not blocked other than by people. From inside the campus, in plain clothes, what would turn out to be undercover FBI agents entered into the crowd. They pulled one demonstrator from the gates and started beating him. They made no attempt to arrest him or identify themselves. They simply beat him.
I was standing there with one of my professors. We had met for lunch and he wanted to see what was happening. I pleaded with the crowd to help the kid being beaten but no one did. Finally I threw down my books and grabbed the guy nearest me who was beating the demonstrator. I was immediately knocked out from behind. I came to in the paddy wagon where an undercover cop started and led a conversation that showed up verbatim at my trial.
I was in a holding cell for about eight hours. I had no one to help me and no money for bail. Finally another professor of mine, a friend, bailed me out. He took me to the hospital where I was treated for a concussion and patched up. If not for this friend, I would not have had a lawyer. I had no money, no resources. I was hurt and in trouble.
I’ve told this many times in many contexts and written about it too.
A legal defense fund was started and my friend made some calls to find out if they would take my case. When I say I had no money, this means none, nada. I was on a work study program that paid my tuition and I received a meager SSI benefit for my deceased mother which paid my rent. This was my entire income.
The arraignment came. The judge told the prosecutor it was a ridiculous case, so outrageous that he should dismiss it outright. He then turned to me and said he wanted to dismiss the case but knew that if he did they would re-arrest me the moment I walked out the door. He said they would then file felony charges against me, my bail would skyrocket, and worse, they’d put me in the penitentiary for a year. So in my best interests, he said, he was holding the case against me over for trial.
Then came the wheeling-dealing, all of which was handled by my lawyer. We met in his office and he laid it all out. I was charged with three misdemeanors, assault and battery on a police officer, resisting arrest and disorderly conduct. If I didn’t cop a plea, they would file a felony against me, Rioting One. The penalty for that was prison time in the penitentiary. As well, I had to face a disciplinary hearing in the university’s ombudsman’s office. If I didn’t cop a plea, they would try me immediately and if were found guilty, which I surely would be, not only would I go to prison for a year, but I’d also be expelled from the university and never be allowed to graduate. I was a senior in my last quarter.
So what choice was there for me? In the end, what I did or didn’t do didn’t matter. Truth didn’t matter. Getting their conviction was all that mattered and they were willing to ruin my life for that.
This is the anatomy of a coerced guilty plea. Imagine what they did to General Petraeus, Michael Flynn and so many others.
For years now our government has been running a Kabuki Theater on us. Every day we see the same crap over and over. We’re told one thing, but the government’s interests go somewhere else. We’re told the government cares and “will get to the bottom of what’s going on,” but it never does. Congressional approval hovers around 18%. About 50% of Congressmen are millionaires and more than 60% of Senators are millionaires. Their median net worth is more than one million dollars and thus one lawmaker’s net worth is more than eighteen regular American households. No wonder Nancy Pelosi referred to the tax cuts as crumbs.
We’ve come to insanity, of course. The informal definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. In this regard we fought the war on poverty for more than 50 years without actually putting a dent in poverty in America or changing the demographics of the poor. In this regard, we’ve spent more and more and more money per capita on education and yet we rank approximately fifteenth in the world in education. And that’s being kind of kind.
It gets worse, not better. The Democrats, who have been mostly in charge of our inner cities, have managed to create and sustain urban centers where poverty abounds, murder rates soar, crime is rampant, education is sub-par and the homeless litter the streets defecating wherever they choose while the police are instructed not to bother them.
Of course when asked about this the Democrats will continually blame other people and other things and insist they have no culpability as they make sanctuary cities which allow more poor, more ignorant, more culturally dissociated people to roam freely and use the limited resources that are dwindling. Then they insist they are looking after the best interests of the American citizens.
Kabuki theater.
It’s a con, a shell game, a façade.
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Into the mix came Alfreda. She waltzed in at about 2:00. She had driven the van over today after completing all her work.
First thing she did was go out into the side dining room where Bill, Bea, Mary and Henry Lee were eating lunch. The lunch meal had been a good one, not gangbusters, but steady-eddie from start to finish. About 11:15 they had all congregated in the hall, Bea up on her lettuce cases as per usual, Bill down on the metal milk cases, as per his usual. Mary and Henry Lee stood leaning against the wall. Bill and Bea had smoked cigarettes. Mary drank a soda. Henry Lee bitched about all the work he had to do in the afternoon. Meat was coming in today, and that was just an added chore.
As Alfreda ambled up to the table where they sat, she acted almost shyly and stood there at the end of the booth as if she were waiting to be asked to sit in with them.
“What you waiting for girl?” Mary looked up at Alfreda from where she sat and told Bea to scooch over, then slid over herself.
Alfreda sat down and kicked her husband under the table then smiled at him and said hello. Henry Lee simply asked what was up. She said just about nothing was going on, that the lunch over on the west side had been slow and all the work was done so she came over with the van to pick up the meat. Bill asked her if she wanted something to eat but she said that she’d already eaten. She said, kind of quietly, that she’d like to get high.
“We got meat coming in today,” Henry Lee said.
“You got the meat cut for us?” Alfreda asked.
“Yeah. All Bill and me got to do is carry it up for you.”
“Good. I don’t want to hang around long. I want to get back, finish up and get home to the kids.”
“Good,” said Henry Lee. “I’m going to be a little late cause of the meat delivery and what I got to do for both stores for tomorrow.”
“No problem for me,” said Alfreda.
About that time Lexi came in and handed Bill a dupe. It was an order for three hamburgers and two bleus.
“Bring Alfreda a beer,” Bill told Lexi. “And bring me one in the kitchen.”
“It’s what I live for,” said Lexi. She did a little curtsy then about-faced and left the dining room.
Bill got up and went into the kitchen. Since he was coming from that side, he took a bag of fries from the reach-in and dropped enough for the five orders into one fryer basket. He did not drop the basket into the oil yet. Next, he went down the line and from his reach-in box he took the burgers and bleus. He placed them on the Garland without opening the drawer. That done, he took five plates from the plate warmer and set them each with a set-up of lettuce, tomato and pickle. The setups were laid out on a tray so all he had to do was plate them. As soon as he’d done this he turned to the Garland, flipped the hamburgers and rolled the bleus.
He heard the side doors open and saw Alfreda come into the kitchen. She was carrying her beer. She stepped onto the line and stood next to Bill. Bill took her beer, sipped it then handed it back to her.
“Drop the fries,” he told her. He watched her slide down the line and do what he’d asked. At the same time he opened the drawer to the Garland, rolled the bleus again and flipped the burgers again.
“When you gonna give me some, baby?” Alfreda sidled up real close to Bill and tapped his hip with hers.
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They came up about a half-hour later. Henry Lee and Bea were still mulling over the horses that were running at different race tracks throughout the country. Bea had not moved from her stool. Henry Lee was smoking a cigarette and leaning in over her shoulder.
Both Bill and Mary came up empty-handed. Ordinarily that would’ve raised an eyebrow or two, but both Henry Lee and Bea knew what they were doing and really could care less. They told Bill and Mary that Tommy had come into the kitchen twice looking for them, that they had told Tommy not to bother looking because they were downstairs getting things together for the rest of the day. Then Henry Lee made a crack to Mary about hoping she was ready to work now.
First thing Bill and Mary did was check the ovens. The steamship round was working. Round about noon, or more like a little after one, Mary would put in the prime rib. Bea’s special for the day was chicken salad. Mary had cooked off the chickens yesterday, so all she and Bill had to do was to break them down, take off the skin and cut them into the size needed for a good chicken salad. Bea would have to cut her own celery and add the mayonnaise, and that was it except for building the salads which consisted of Romaine and iceberg lettuce, arugula, cherry tomatoes, hard-boiled eggs and carrots. Bea didn’t look as if she was too concerned about getting that done. She had done this many, many times before and knew exactly when she needed to get started.
After checking the oven, the first thing Bill and Mary did was put on a pot of au jus. Next, Mary set up the pot for yellow rice. While she proceeded to make that, Bill went around to the line and began turning things on. He started by lighting both fryers. Next, he lit one half of the charcoal grill and the Garland. That done, he went over by the pot washer station and began gathering the inserts and pans for the steam table. It was a little too early to begin building the table, but he placed all the inserts and pans he would need inside the table itself so that he didn’t have to go anywhere anymore and could fill it with water after laying out the pans.
By this time Henry Lee was ready to head downstairs. He told Bill he didn’t need him until about eleven when they would grind the meat for the hamburgers and make the hamburgs and bleus. So Bill, after checking that Mary had nothing for him to do, sat down in the hall on the milk cases.
The back door was open and the hall was chilly. Outside Bill could see there was only a slight accumulation of snow. He knew Tommy would put Paulie, the ADHD kid, to work shoveling snow while the other dishwashers cleaned up whatever was left over from the night before. Soon the waitresses would start coming in and the quiet the kitchen crew enjoyed, despite the droning exhaust fans and other noises of the kitchen, would end. Slowly but surely the pace of work would begin increasing, and the day, like every other day, would take its shape.
No one could tell yet what the day would be like. There were so many variables it was impossible to tell ahead of time. Maybe the snow would curtail the business, maybe not. Maybe all the waitresses would work well together, maybe not. Maybe Drenovis would stop by and if he did it would change the nature of the day altogether. Maybe, just maybe, Mr. Bowman would show up. That would change the nature of the day also. Then of course there was the service, how the orders came in. It could be a humongous rush or a slow steady game. You just never knew.
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Well, we can kiss truth goodbye. When you can’t believe the FBI Director and the former Director of National Intelligence was found to have lied under oath… Or maybe we should look at Susan Rice, you know the Benghazi video lie, or Hillary herself, who lied to the parents of the deceased while telling her own daughter the truth… Oh the loss of the truth in America is clearly demonstrable and ever-apparent.
I know. The left-leaners will say Trump, Flynn, Manafort and a whole host of righties lie. But doesn’t that just underscore the point?
Loss of the truth gets worse. It gets downright disgusting. Not only can we not trust politicians, but we are witnessing the complete breakdown of the free and independent press, and this is more dangerous than any lying politicians. The facts are clear. Eighty percent of all stories regarding President Trump have been negative. It’s unheard of. The media have an anti-Trump agenda and are using their powers to attempt to destroy him. When the free, independent press gets biased, no matter for which side, it’s no better than Putin controlling his press in Russia. In effect, as the in-the-tank-for-the-Democrats media continue to claim (and still with not one shred of evidence) Trump is connected to Putin, they are actually doing Putin’s bidding for him: weakening America by fabricating what the public sees and hears.
A biased press is un-American and the left-leaning media are moving America into very dangerous waters. They claim to talk for the American people. They profess to know what Americans want and need. At best, they can only speak for the half of the population that didn’t vote for Trump, the ones they call the deplorables. Their premise and their claim are false to begin with.
Justice got kissed away on the tarmacs. If there were any doubt remaining about the outright bias in the media, any doubt remaining about their political agenda, that doubt died on the tarmacs. The biased media never truly explored the actual connection between Bill Clinton and Loretta Lynch. It never took the time to explore the lack-of-justice department’s attempts to stymie FBI investigation. The Democrat-leaning media ridicule the very notion of justice, just as they ridicule the very notion of truth.
The greatest threats to America are no longer external. They tell us it’s Russia, China, Iran and North Korea. They tell us it’s ISIS and Islamic Extremist Terrorism. They even try to tell us it’s global warming as the greatest threat.
But…
The real threat to America is internal. It is the persistent and determined undermining of the American Way, of one of the core premises of our democracy, which is a free and unbiased press . The Democrat-supporting media are putting America in true jeopardy and peril not by their opposition to anything President Trump does even before he proposes it, but by attempting to destroy his presidency through ridiculous hyperbole and ignoring in their reporting what is actually happening.
So what’s next? Destruction of truth and justice is pretty much done. Is destruction of the American Way next? Revisionist history aims at that. In its biased and slanted coverage of it, it would seem the biased media will settle for nothing less.
