The Things My Boss Will Never Know

I listen to drinking music when I drive around the campus in my Jeep. My "Drunk and Disorderly" cd, and AC/DC's, "have a drink on me" are my current favorites.

The time my dishwasher hurt his back, it wasn't because he hurt it tossing heavy crap into the dumpster. Him and I were having a high kick contest, aiming at the hanging pots above the counter when he kicked a little too high and slipped, landing on his tail bone. I won by default.

All those beets I cooked last week was not for my guests. I was making hair dye for the line server/future rock star drummer.

My mug with the company logo on it and a tall gin and tonic in it is a good thing.

My camera phone is in my pocket at all times. I have quite the nice collection of celebrity ass.

It is hot in my kitchen. I grill with the walk in cooler door wide open. Screw the grumpy matenace guys who have to come defrost the motor when it freezes up. Rumors are the morning chef cooks nude. But I won't be stopping in early with my camera phone to prove that one.

Saturday night I sent all the left over prime rib and what ever food I can find home with Alice, my seventy four year old "assistant". It will feed her kids and grand kids and half the trailer park known as "little Chicago", she lives in. I also due her dishes. And her floors. So fire me for that.

I come up with most of my own recipes. When guests ask me to write them down, I make stuff up.

That self conscious chick that came in last month, the one with anorexia, that you wanted me to measure out her food and hoax her to eat, I didn't. I found out she lived on ice cream when she did eat so she and I sat together at my desk and ate Sundays and read some of my cookbooks. She left with my book that came with my ice cream maker. And five pounds.

I write out my cheques at the liquor store with my company pen. And I laugh. And ask the cashier if she will gift wrap.

I liked that scitzophenic chick who was delusional. Gave me something to look forward too, wondering if she would come to dinner dressed as Madonna, or J. Lo. She was a good eater and very grateful.

The souvenirs that my co-workers asked for from my recent trip were, a shot glass from Finland, a Hard Rock T-shirt from Sweden, Black Death, a beer stein, and porn. I drew the line at porn. But I told them all about it.

When I call over to the main kitchen and ask for you to send Josh over, it's not because he is a great help. I'm helping him get into collage. Poor kid has way too much future to spend his life here.

I save all the scraps off the plates and leave a big plate of food out by the dumpster for the feral cats. If I ever get close to that big manx, he is going home with me.

I don't understand the coincidence between between the big flat top grill not working when that big guy lazy counter leaning guy I don't like very much cooks breakfast, but I do know a little puff of breath aimed at the pilot light will cause it to go out.

I am not qualified for this job. Did not have the experience. Wonder every day how I ended up here.

I do a killer impersonation of you. My biggest fear is you walking into my kitchen and catching me doing you.