“Go home, Alexander. Come back when your head isn’t up your own goddamn ass!” “Yes, Chef.” He also took off his apron and left. “What do I hate?” he asked the rest of them. “Apologizing to customers,” his army answered as one. “What don’t I tolerate?” “Bad chefs,” they replied. He took off his apron and threw it on the table, “Think about that while I’m out there apologizing to a sixty-year-old woman over fish, you fucking cunts.”
