The owner's been in a foul mood, going off his nut without the slightest provocation, threatening to fire us all at random, screaming at the top of his lungs, it's been a few days, few weeks now, the girls suspect that it's because they've denied him groping rights, I've postulated that the bloom is off the marriage, everyone has their own theory, what matters is that he's unlivable at the moment.
The only thing that keeps me here is the lack of job security. Knowing that at any moment I could be free, it's the uncertainty, if I had to look forward to this a day, a week, month, I'd probably kill myself....
And in the kitchen he's screaming at the top of his lungs, throwing pots and pans, swearing at all and sundry who have the misfortune to be near.
Some of the tables can hear, they've been sat too near the kitchen. All of the tables could hear if they listened, most politely pretend that nothing's happening. You could be raped in the center of the dining room with a broken coke bottle and no one would see a thing, that's our customers.
A customer has a question: "What does 'Porco Dio' mean....?" she asks. I explain: "It means 'heavenly proscuitto', or 'The Ham of God'".
One of the brighter ones has another question..."What does 'Fucking Shit Fucking Son of a bitch Fucking Fuck Fuck...mean then?"
"Ah, that's a version of the Shepherds Lament, sung in Italian, and sadly most of the meaning is lost in translation...." I reply.