Rt. #16 Bee-Line Bus Memoirs: The Assistant Chef Pt. II

Be sure to read Rt. #16 Bee-Line Bus Memoirs: The Assistant Chef Pt. I posted on Oct. 7th. (Scroll Down)


Rt. #16 Bee-Line Bus Memoirs: The Assistant Chef Pt. II

So... I asked him with a smile to show him no harm, "Where did you go? What happened to you ____(his name)? You were always full of cheer and bounce. You always wore a smile, an intense and welcoming energy, and was always so cheery and excited about life- I mean what happened to the ____ (his name) I remember?"

He responded again- twisting his face with expression he lip synced again, "Tired." He repeated himself silently again, "I'm tired", while pointing his finger at himself. 

So, I reached for more, I asked him if he still worked in the mall, and I asked him what he was doing with himself these days, how was his family- his wife and kids.

He responded with words for the first time. First he eased my concern and assured me that it was alright to ask him questions (with my face looking so confused). He spoke- in short fragmented explanations he told me...

HIM: "I became a Chef."
ME: "Pardon me?" 

Because I was unsure of what he said.

HIM: "I became an assistant chef at a restaurant." 

He closes his eyes and shakes his head negatively to stress to me his grief.

Still looking very confused as to where his passion had gone: I waited for more from him.

He stared back at me waiting for me to tag him again. It was a if he wanted the exchange but did not want to say it aloud again for himself to hear. He shakes his head some more.

So, I jump in for comfort- I explain to him that I have 2 friends that are chefs in NYC. One works for Tribecca Grille and another for NoBu 57. I explained to him that both of my friends have expressed the difficulty of being a chef. To the point of panic attacks and stress breakdowns. One of my friends had to leave the job for a month only to come back and be overworked and stressed again. 

I added that it must be rough to have a job, work so hard, and...

He interrupted as if he were waiting for just the right spot to cut in...

HIM: "I never see my family."
Shaking his head and making faces in disgust. 

He put the tips of his thumb and pointer finger close together as if 

he were crushing a grape between them. With his fingers close to his face...

HIM: "This close! I am this close"

ME: "Close to what?"

HIM: "To having the mental breakdown." 

He motions again as if he could not speak the words again or as if he would break in the moment if he were to repeat them.

ME: "So you've change jobs and became a chef, and now you never see your wife and kids? That's a killer I am sure. Is the pay good? I ask because I know you are a hustling-hard-working-man, and bright- so I can only wonder why you would deal with such stress."

HIM: "The pay is good, I cannot complain about that, but I never am able to see my family. I open the place and close it. If you want a life, don't become a chef. Become a chef, have no life!"

He raises his hands, shrugs his shoulders, and looking defeated he sits back in his seat. 

ME: "Well brother, I hope things get better for you and that life brings you closer to time spent with your family. You were always a positive and energetic person who had a way of brightening my day. Peace to you man, and I hope the best for you."

I began to put my earphones on- hinting to him that I was going to leave him to himself and would no longer pry. I shot a smile to him and bowed my head softly to suggest my concern.

HIM: "Thank you, Freddie."

He sincerely attempted a smile, but immediately looked away and out of the bus window into the passing trees...

We got off the bus at the same stop and went our separate ways.

Choicemas-