For reasons known only to himself, and not even he knew what they were, Hans wanted to take the rest of the day off.

Announcing he was “bored” and “didn’t want to play anymore” seemed slightly childish, but he couldn’t think of a really good excuse for walking out on everyone. It was likely for that reason he now stalked back and forth between the dining room and the kitchen trying not to bite anyone’s head off.

Like, literally, he thought to himself. He wondered if there would be a moon tonight or something, because it seemed to him that things were just really weird today. There had been a third incident just before the dinner rush between Gretal and some unannounced jumped up performer-looking dude and a fourth one during it, which had started off with a chipped glass and ended up outside, thank goodness, and frankly that was WAY TOO MANY things, because things only happen in threes, not fours. Everyone knew that.

The Canerican, who pronounced her names as Shane (although it said Shianne on her name tag) didn’t appear to be too happy doing the dishes. It may have had something to do with the fact she was not dressed appropriately at all, but, she’d wanted to start immediately, and Hans had indeed simply shrugged and said (after his initial terrifying admission to himself of what the truth looked like)…

‘I’m not paying the insurance.’

Fennel, at that point had stormed off swearing under his breath, and Hans seriously began to question himself, because under normal circumstances he would not have done this, and really, if the woman wanted to take him to court (if, Hans, if, not when) she would win because he’d allowed her in the kitchen.

She did not appear to understand what he meant just after the dinner rush when he said, ‘What you’re wearing is inappropriate.’

He knew this because she’d started spouting nonsense about her rights and other things, which really had him questioning his choices again.

‘Listen, Shane…’

‘Shianne.’

‘That’s what I said. Please don’t interrupt, as I’m about to teach you something.’

‘Fine,’ she said, which really got his goat.

‘As you are working in the kitchen, Shane, you should be wearing trousers, and covered work shoes. Why do you think this is, Shane?’

‘Shianne,’ said Shane. ‘I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me.’

‘Why don’t you start showing me a little respect and I will.’

Fennel and the other kitchen staff began to do things really loudly then, because they all seemed to get incredibly busy all at once and there were lots of pots and pans banging, and shouting of “Where’s the cheese sauce,” and other things, so Hans decided it may possibly be the time to escort Shane, without touching her because that would give her something else to complain about, into the short hall between there and the dining room.

‘Because,’ Hans said quietly because it was quieter. ‘You need to be covered up so you don’t get burnt, or scalded, or anything else that will require you taking an extended leave of absence because you haven’t followed our occupational health and safety rules, which are there for a very good reason. That’s why.’

‘Then why did you put me in the kitchen,’ she asked.

‘Because,’ and he took a very deep and calming breath because seriously he wanted to strangle her right now. ‘You wanted to start straight away. You do not seem to understand anything else about anything else, and I took pity on you and now you are here, and really you don’t have to be here. After all, it’s three days of free work I’ve taken out of your life and you could seriously be working for somebody else.’ He sucked in another breath. ‘That’s why.’ He spat out the words like they were on fire. ‘Would you like to go home now?’

He crossed his fingers inside his pants pockets. Then he saw himself in the hallway mirror, straightened his hair and his tie, carefully made sure his flea collar wasn’t showing, and gave himself a wink.

The Shane woman seemed to be staring at him.

Well, it wasn’t really a surprise because after all he was amazingly handsome and people seemed to do that a lot.

‘I just can’t seem to make up my mind,’ she said.

‘About what,’ he grinned because apparently he had a fabulous, cheeky grin and it made one old lady’s heart go all gooey once, or so he’d been told.

‘Whether I should be listening to the man who seems to know what he’s talking about, or looking at the man who seems to think he’s God’s Gift when he really, okay well… Okay so I’m not going home permanently but could I go and get changed. Please.’

Hans felt much better. ‘Don’t take too long,’ he warned. ‘Closing is in three hours.’

It was after she’d left that he realised her eyes were green. He decided he shouldn’t have noticed that.

‘I’m going now,’ he informed Fennel five minutes later.

Fennel looked surprised. ‘Why? You usually stay until close?’

‘I just am. That’s all. Sometimes you just get a little too personal, Fennel.’

Fennel held up his hands. ‘Hey, I’m not arguing mate, you’re the boss.’

‘That’s right, I am.’ Hans restrained himself from saying “So there”.

Maybe there was a pub within a twenty minute radius he could find because, as much as he liked the kitchen and wait staff here, he had been spending too much time with them, and with the arrival of the Shane woman, who was very disturbing, he simply didn’t want to be here anymore.

‘Have a good night,’ he said to Fennel, who gave him a brief wave.

That’s when he decided to go home, drop off the car, and head out to any kind of club or pub he could get absolutely smashed at. He glanced through the possibilities and found a Karaoke Bar.

Tonight he’d be singing, “Born Free”. Well, that would be the first option he’d go with, and if they didn’t have that then he’d choose something equally fitting for the animal he’d become.

Waking up at three-thirty am was not something Hans had planned. Waking up with a tail and in a cold sweat was not something he had anticipated so, when he got up and sat out the back of his house on the long verandah and studied the extremely wide and open night sky over his back fence, he wondered if he should go back to bed.

The tail swishing through the gap in the rear of his chair told him it wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. He decided to make a coffee and listen to what (he assumed) the lizard had to say.

Very well then, the lizard said (at least he thought it was the lizard) I am not going to make it easy for you because we simply will not get along if you think I am going to tell you the meaning of life because this is not why I’m here fullstop In three hours time the sun will come up and you will go for the first run you have had in six months comma possibly consider freshly made butter from a cow might be a thing and then wonder if you have made a terrible mistake remaining in the restaurant business.

‘That’s just great,’ Hans muttered into his coffee.

I told you we wouldn’t get along, the lizard replied. Bet you don’t care much for my voice in my head now do you pretty man.

My voice in my head? he thought.

I do not distinguish between you and me I am the lizard and this is what we do when are you going to be a real man Hans and remember what you were meant to be considering from all that time ago question mark.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Maybe if we actually speak to the okay you called her a yank well that must be a thing okay well when are we going to talk about why you haven’t hired her yet comma this is what you are meant to be doing three weeks has gone by and you are too comfortable being back in a restaurant do you even know what’s happening with your other restaurants how come you haven’t hired the American woman yet dearly beloved we are gathered here today oh I am singing isn’t this lovely

‘How do I turn you off,’ asked Hans seriously.

How can you even ask that question you are a dog now didn’t you know dogs hear everything I wonder if the American woman has a demonic beast inside her shall we find out or do you just want to think about why you are even thinking about her in the first place question mark

‘I have not been thinking about the American woman,’ replied Hans.

Obviously, which is one of your favourite words and I am going to teach you how to use commas because I learnt them from Bart, And fullstops because people need to breathe who knew. Obviously, this might take some time. Obviously you have been thinking about the American woman or I wouldn’t be telling me this

Hans stood up, dragging his tail behind him. ‘Obviously I need to go for a run now.’

It’s still dark, said the lizard.

‘Then I’ll run in the dark,’ said Hans grumpily.

Obviously, said the lizard.

Somewhere during his run, Hans contemplated becoming ‘an athlete, a gymnast, a model, an actor or a priest. He didn’t realise he’d said it out loud until much later in the day, which was around the time the American woman came into the restaurant and the words came back to haunt him.

That was when he decided he should have been a priest, and he didn’t know why.

She was wearing a skirt.

Hans decided, at that very moment, skirts should always be very long, at least ankle length, and not in the least bit showing any skin. Then he wondered if he should have been thinking about changing his religion because this did not seem to be something he would normally be thinking. Then he thought about the fact he didn’t really have a religion so why had he been considering being a priest?

She smiled.

Hans remembered what the lizard had said about hiring her and that was when he realised why he should have been a priest. He did not have relationships with anyone he worked with, ever, and this looked like it would be a very long day indeed, because apparently that’s why she’d turned up.

‘Hello again,’ she said.

He sighed. She remembered him. Well, this was just great. The last time he’d seen her, if he remembered correctly, he’d been reaching for … No Hans, no, we don’t think about these things.

‘How can I help you,’ he asked and high-fived himself mentally.

The restaurant was not packed, because it was just after noon, and no one else was there except the waiter behind him who seemed to be chortling quietly to herself which made no sense whatsoever, until he realised he was scratching his arse. Dammit.

She, not being the waiter but the woman in the skirt which was not long enough, held out a manilla folder and smiled again. ‘I was wondering if you guys had any work going? I haven’t had much luck lately. I learn quickly, so if you have something, anywhere at all, I would really appreciate you considering looking at my resume. Please.’

Hans considered this. He possibly considered it for a little too long without saying anything because the woman’s smile began to look a little strained and the waiter had apparently left the building.

‘Sorry,’ he said politely. ‘But …’

‘What can you do,’ said Fennel from behind him. ‘We do have a couple of positions available, and Hans, as you can see, is a bit rusty in the old, “Welcome to our restaurant” business. Give me your resume and we’ll have a chat in the …’ He paused and looked at Hans. ‘Can we use your office, mate?’

‘Sure,’ said Hans.

The woman looked at him, mouthed, “Your office? ” in such a way that he tried not to smile, and he did not look at her parting bottom once as she wandered off with Fennel.

‘Fucking Fennel,’ he mumbled.

Then he went and found the the waiter, who happened to be hiding in the kitchen with the kitchen hands, sent her back into the dining room, and went out the back to look at the skip bin for the next half an hour.

to be continued.

He managed to make it through the morning without biting anyone’s head off, and even managed to have a laugh with a few of the kitchen hands in this most recently acquired restaurant and that was possibly because it was run by the woman with the gelled back hair. She, apparently, had forgotten he was coming. It was wonderful.

‘You didn’t send me a reminder text,’ she said as she unlocked the glass door at the front of the building just after midday.

Hans saw no point in replying. Some people just got up your nose and that’s all there was to it. As he liked to think of himself as having a certain degree of self-honesty he assumed it might be a personality clash, so, the aim and test here, at least for himself, was to see how long he could last without wanting to shove the woman in a skip bin.

‘How are you,’ he said politely after she’d let him inside (it had taken a few moments). It looked like she wanted to scuttle back off to wherever her office was in this place.

‘I’m well, thank you Hans. I do have some catching up to do though, so if you don’t mind.’

‘I don’t mind. Let me know when you’re done.’ He tried not to scowl because, although he could think of nothing a restaurant manager would be doing in her office just after opening, he did want to look at the books after she’d completed whatever it was she needed to do. ‘I’ll just have a look at these improvements you said you’d made in the kitchen.’

‘That’s fine,’ she replied, which he really, really tried not to scowl at. Of course it was fine. He owned the fucking joint.

‘I appreciate your patience,’ he said instead, and wandered through to the heart of the building. A lovely big chest freezer sat in the corner of the kitchen. Hans decided that it might be a good sitty spot.

‘Are you guys getting anything out of this in the next half an hour,’ he asked the chef whose name, if he remembered correctly, was Fennel.

‘I fucking hope not,’ the chef replied in typical cheffy-chef-like fashion.

‘Do you mind?’

‘Do what you like,’ said the chef.

Hans popped himself up onto the lid of the freezer and watched them all working for a little while, to see if Nora’s “improvements” made any difference. This was around the time the kitchen-hands noticed his socks, and likely when they all started having a good time. It was the kid at the sink who said something first.

‘Do you like Homer Simpson,’ he asked, grinning.

Hans pursed his lips and tried not to smile. ‘Not really.’

‘Who got you those then,’ asked the kid. ‘Your wife?’

Brave kid, Hans. He held up his unringed fingers. ‘No, my sister. Personal questions, mate.’

The kid ducked his head, his face turning bright pink as he began scrubbing furiously at a chopping board. ‘Sorry.’

The chef glanced at Hans from the stove. ‘Don’t be a prick, Hans.’

Hans laughed. This was around the time he began telling the kitchen staff about how he’d started out in the restaurant industry.

‘…And when they realised I couldn’t cook for shit, which didn’t take long let me tell you, they decided instead to take advantage of my fabulous good looks and put me on the floor,’ he finished with a grin. One of the sous chefs smiled at him brightly and he tried not to give her a wink. The girls always said he had beautiful brown eyes, but flirting with the staff was simply not something he did if he could help it. It wasn’t fair on anyone.

It had been a good lunch, so far. Everyone worked smoothly together, the menu had not been changed from the one they’d decided worked best at all his restaurants, and even the kitchen-hands knew the fryers were always set to one hundred and eighty degrees.

Hallelujah, thought Hans.

Forty-five minutes had gone by though, and he still hadn’t seen the restaurant manager. What the fuck was she doing?

He thanked the chef politely and decided to go and find her. She wasn’t on the floor, she wasn’t at reception or the bar, and she wasn’t having a sneaky durry out the back. That left only one place. The woman must still be in the office.

Hans had dealt with people like this before. Once they hit a certain level, they seemed to decide their place was not dealing with the customers anymore, choosing instead to reward themselves by hiding away and keeping themselves entertained playing card games on the computer or doing something equally irritating that in no way contributed to the running of a restaurant.

It was a combination of arrogance and laziness, in Hans’ opinion. After all, whether they liked it or not, they were supposed to be “people people’ and part of that was actually dealing with people properly and showing everyone else (that being the staff) what they should be doing, not, and he really started getting angry now as he strode towards the office, thinking themselves all high and fucking mighty and better than everyone else. The real problem, and eventual outcome, would be that the manager became so removed from their staff, and so distant from the everyday workings of a business, they lost touch with what happened within the business itself, and that was when everything started to go downhill.

The office door was locked.

‘You are fucking kidding me,’ he muttered. There really was no excuse for this. Prep had likely started at ten a.m. if not earlier, and the manager would have (should have) been on site by then. Any “banking” or paperwork would be over and done with by this point, if it hadn’t been done the previous evening, and any excuse for the office being locked from the inside at this time of day would need to be a good one.

He didn’t bother knocking.

The one thing Hans always made sure he did when he purchased a joint, was to make sure he had a set of keys. In this case the previous owner had only one set for himself, and Hans had made sure, not only to get those for emergencies but to have two more sets cut, just on the off chance someone had lost them, or didn’t know who else might have put them in their pocket, forgotten about them and gone home. It happened quite a lot.

He didn’t usually bother telling the managers at the seven restaurants this and more often than not they were pleasantly surprised when he saved their arses. He didn’t do it for them though. As he’d always said, it was about making money, and no one could operate a place if they couldn’t get in.

He unlocked the door.

The Dora Nora Flora woman sat at her desk drinking a cup of coffee and eating what looked to be black forest cake with extra cherries. She did not look in the least bit remorseful, and even had the balls to raise an eyebrow as he shut the door carefully behind him.

‘I didn’t hear you knock,’ she said.

‘Hello,’ he replied. ‘You’re fired, who’s next in line.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ She put down her cup and stared at him. ‘What’s your reasoning for this?’

‘Never mind. I’ll figure it out myself. Get your purse, or your handbag or whatever it is you come to work with, and fuck off. We’re done.’

She didn’t smirk, but there seemed to be a hint of one. ‘Nobody knows how to do this. You need to give me more notice so I can find a replacement.’

‘I know how to sit around and drink coffee all day, and I know the correct time for when I should be on the floor and when I should be in the office, and I can do every single thing you can do and, more importantly, I can do it better,’ he replied. ‘So.’ He leant back against the door and folded his arms. ‘Give me a reason why you’re in here with the door locked doing nothing, and if it’s good enough I won’t fire you.’

There was silence for a short moment and he watched her face. It felt like the woman was considering her options. She looked like one of those people who thought, just because he was devastatingly handsome, which he was (of course) he was also possibly a little bit of a pushover, or dumb, or both, which he wasn’t (of course). She didn’t smell in the least bit concerned either, which proved to him who the stupid one could be.

‘I don’t need a reason,’ she said, ‘My reputation should be good enough, and the staff can run the restaurant perfectly well without me being in there all the time.’

He growled. ‘Then why are you working here?’

She looked at him properly then and finally something registered. Her eyes went wide, the little silver fork she’d been eating her cake with dropped to the carpeted floor with hardly a sound, followed soon after by the plate with the cake on it. Such a waste.

‘You’ve got ten minutes,’ he said and left the office. He tried not to cock his leg on the door as he walked out.

to be continued