Mailing the Chef

Musette has not received a call from the chef of the kitchen she applied to work for. She is freaking out. I pick her up from work. She dranka lotta coffee and talked to her chef about helping her along with the hiring process, but her chef was so busy that he gave her short answers and not at all the ones she was hoping to hear.

He asked if she emailed this guy named Chef Matt, the restaurant’s executive chef. She thought this other guy, Jorioni Perioni, was the executive chef. But he is like some sort of master chef. This other chef runs the day to day. Master chefs don’t have time for that. They own multiple restaurants. They can’t be in just one place all the time.

She tries to get her chef to email or text or just plain give her this other chef’s email, but he is distracted or something, and so he never does.

He loves being on his phone, so when Musette and i get home we send him a text message asking him for the address.

Musette has me send the message, because I’m the writer. Her only request is that there be a smiling emoji included.

I write something. I’ve got a good feeling about it. I include the emoji, and after looking over some if his previous responses to her, I believe I compose my words in a way that has the potential to hit him smack dab right in the social sweet spot.

We anxiously await his response. After a few minutes the phone vibrates. I lunge for it. Chef Z has provided the address.

He says, ‘You deserve this opportunity.’

We thank him, and begin a draft of the email which we will send to Chef Matt. I write with a pen on paper. It’s the first time I’ve done this in a long while. The draft pretty much says that we’re following up on the position we applied for. We work for this person of this restaurant. We hope to hear back soon. Here is every way i can think of to get in touch with me. Best Regards. Musette Humbert.

‘Are you sure you want to send it right now?’ I ask after typing the words into her phone. ‘It is like, literally, 4 in the morning there; and tomorrow is Sunday.’

‘Just do it.’ She says.


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