Just When You Think It Can't Get More F'ed Up...
I am the new queen in a nasty game, which is locked in a checkmate. Yes, I have not written in a long time, but that's because I have been busy surviving my new job. I'll try to summarize.
I like my job. I do well at it and I like my employees and the daily tasks I am responsible for. Regardless, I have typed up my two weeks notice and am planning on turning it in tomorrow.
Why? My boss is a sociopath. He is the constant chaos in an otherwise ideal work environment. He heaps mounds and mounds of work on me because he is a phony, an incompetent jester who has fooled his way into a well-paying position. The smartest thing he's ever done is hire me, because I have enabled him to play this charade longer.
The night Sous Chef and this Executive "Chef" I just spoke of have been playing a cunning game, which has turned against their favor. As a result, they are now deadlocked in a battle of blackmail. Sous: "I've got the goods on you so you'd better make my life nice and cooshy. Here are my demands." To which the Exec. Chef responds by delegating the workload to me, a load which has become unbearable. Neither one of them is compenent or sober enough to do what I do.
His name is John H. Keenan, and he is an sociopathic nut job. Beware. If you don't know what a sociopath is, look it up. It's frightening stuff, and I'm done with the abuse and manipulation. Neither one of them realized until today that I have the goods on both of them. The gig is up. Yes, I'm leaving, but I've got some damage to do on the way out the door.
I'm disappointed. I'm frustrated. I'm downright sad. But I'm not going to compromise everything I am in order to make a damn paycheck.
I like my job. I do well at it and I like my employees and the daily tasks I am responsible for. Regardless, I have typed up my two weeks notice and am planning on turning it in tomorrow.
Why? My boss is a sociopath. He is the constant chaos in an otherwise ideal work environment. He heaps mounds and mounds of work on me because he is a phony, an incompetent jester who has fooled his way into a well-paying position. The smartest thing he's ever done is hire me, because I have enabled him to play this charade longer.
The night Sous Chef and this Executive "Chef" I just spoke of have been playing a cunning game, which has turned against their favor. As a result, they are now deadlocked in a battle of blackmail. Sous: "I've got the goods on you so you'd better make my life nice and cooshy. Here are my demands." To which the Exec. Chef responds by delegating the workload to me, a load which has become unbearable. Neither one of them is compenent or sober enough to do what I do.
- The menu that he is running was stolen off the internet, word for word, from a famous chef in the Washingon DC area. I have a copy of it in my work binder.
- At night there is no one to watch what is happening in the restaurant, and that is where he hides. He does nothing in a day. He does not know how to cook, he knows nothing about being a Chef. He is quite literally an imposter. He spends most of his time off premises, drinking at bars. He sneaks out the side entrance and leaves his chef coat behind on the stairway railing. I have taken the coats and have them held for evidence. His name is embroidered on them.
- Let's skip the details and go for a shocker, shall we? The temps that have been hired to work as stewards during large banquet functions were pimped out in the hotel rooms. Yes, the desparate women who are working temporary jobs to feed their families have been used like whores. I have no evidence, just word of mouth and confirmation from multiple associates on the PM shift. I refused to believe it for a while, but now I am sure. I tell you this because it is a prime example of the heineous piece of shit I am forced to work with.
His name is John H. Keenan, and he is an sociopathic nut job. Beware. If you don't know what a sociopath is, look it up. It's frightening stuff, and I'm done with the abuse and manipulation. Neither one of them realized until today that I have the goods on both of them. The gig is up. Yes, I'm leaving, but I've got some damage to do on the way out the door.
I'm disappointed. I'm frustrated. I'm downright sad. But I'm not going to compromise everything I am in order to make a damn paycheck.