on Facebook, the family - restaurant - is in rough shape. There's been kickback over a couple of the owner's more indiscreet Facebook posts re: the death of S***, and she's now in the hospital, under observation, nervous breakdown...
...the restaurant may not open tomorrow.
Never mind, it'd be nice to have some notice is all, not do the drive for nothing, but, it is what it is...
I can have no sympathy for these people.
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And so, by last night the verdict from the Coroner, that it appeared to be "drug related".
And the Mother in Law confirms that when her brother went to pick up his meds he found S*** behaving strangely, and found himself 15 or 20 Morphine pills short.
Thus the end of summer, and people are quite literally dying to get out of there.
Whether it was intentional or not we'll probably never know. It was, however, very preventable. That workplace is toxic as fuck.
***
C**** is texting me. She's done. Going in today to collect herself and get the fuck out of dodge. She's still aghast that they were trying to open while S*** lay dead in the basement. Don't blame her. It's time. It's overdue. All this circus so that JR can lead his best life, take summers off and collect EI all winter. Who does that leave standing? JR and Me, until the Thanksgiving Long, to run the front of the house. No nonsense about "staying open all winter" this year. Unless, of course, JR wants to commit to it, but he's on his own. In the kitchen, JR's mother and Mister Tickles. There's no word as to how the high school girls are handling this, or even if they've been told.
***
So, at the library now, a quiet moment, and waiting on the text that tells me to come into work early, C**** has quit, and it's time now they start to figure shit out.
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Back to work this morning, the boon of the unexpected 3 days off is over, and - well, I'm figuring 5 weeks left, let's get it over with.
But I'm not happy.
Arriving early, there was rain earlier in the week, intending to search for arrowheads.
SR is outside the basement, on the phone, he's earnestly talking to someone...
As I get out of my car he tells me - "S*** killed himself!!! I just found him in the basement...".
S*** was the head chef, he lived in the basement. And SR describes how he found him, on the couch, slouched over, black, the stench...
So, no suggestion he killed himself, rather an expression of SR's annoyance that he won't be coming to work. From the sounds of things this probably happened after work Sunday. I wasn't there.
Now they're looking for Mister Tickles, the other Chef, doing a "wellness" check and wanting to ask if he wants to work today in S***'s place. Of course they would.
After a spell the ambulance shows up, they confirm he's deceased, minimum 24 hours, now it's time for the RCMP, then the coroner....
SR's wife, in shock, C**** is horrified, JR is in shock and crying. It's a gong show. SR and his wife, they want to stay open, "Life goes on...".
I'm doubting that's going to happen. Eventually Mister Tickles shows up, he's a little calmer about it all than they are, he knows damn well they want him to work, nothing stops them, they're demons...
***
It starts to come together a bit. S***, native, without family, had worked 14 hours Sunday. A big guy, he was exhausted. Dead exhausted. And the Mother in Law, she's worried - she gave him a package to hold for her brother, his meds, morphine. So maybe that was it? She blames herself.
Maybe. S**** liked to party, and his "girlfriend" was also his dealer, talking to him once he mentioned she stopped dealing when her best friend OD'd. A bad batch.
And occasionally she was seen 'round his place. So maybe he didn't stop using, maybe tried to curb his exhaustion...
Maybe, maybe, maybe. Or maybe it was just they worked him to death. That place would do it to you. It was a busy day, by all accounts.
***
Talk to another Kitchen worker, A****, who confirmed she'd last received a text from him Sunday night, by Monday morning he wasn't answering.
***
I'd often joked the place was built over an Indian Burial Ground, and now - now it is. Let alone the winding up of the chefs at the beginning of the season, when I told them about the OD's in the staff housing...and I want to ask, if only to cast levity on the situation, if they found any sign of Curtis down in the basement, that chef who went missing under mysterious circumstances in May...but it's too soon. S*** would have laughed.
***
Enough is enough and I want the season to be over. C*** won't make it, will probably quit within the week, the kitchen girls, high school students, they're not going to take it well, we're wasting time until the season is over, the season, this season, the longest one ever, and every one wants it done.
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This morning, a review calling me "Salty".
Which is true, last night, working with T***, who has the same abilities as the Mother in Law, only a lot prettier and infinitely more charming.
The owners had put their heads together and told me to just work until close and call T*** off for the night, and I reminded them that we've been busy the last few weeks, being the only show open and all, and that if it proved slow I'd send her.
It didn't prove slow, it would have been reasonably busy for 2 people. Only one comes in and does more damage than good, standing talking to one table while I seat three tables, expedite food for two, then bus two of her tables, then watch her run over to the ones I just sat and grab orders, making them effectively "hers". Her next visit will be at the till to chat them up while they pay the bill and tip.
She pours 6 glasses of foam then leaves them on the bar, complaining the beer won't work. I pour her beer. She complains of the fruit flies, as if she can't see them and pluck them out with a straw, the doors here, always open, it would be impossible to keep them all out.
I've become too much the donkey. The idiocy of dumping it all on me, or pairing me with T***, who will be a great waitress when we stop having tables...
So anyways, yeah, I'm a bit salty...
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