Chef Kaets put down the kitchen towel she had in her hand to answer the phone.
“Hello, Chef Marie Kaets speaking, how can I help you?”
The voice on the other side of the phone dredged up her past by asking for the one thing she would never cook again, no matter the fee they offered. Thinking back, she couldn’t believe she’d ever really done that, but it felt like a lifetime ago. In her defense, she was desperate for money at the time and ultimately felt the experience was worth the risk involved to further her budding career.
“I’m sorry, but you’ve made a mistake. I certainly don’t offer a service like that!”
As she put the phone back in the pocket of her Chef jacket, she felt a pang of anger rise up to the surface. No, no… deep breaths Marie, calm down, it doesn’t matter. Shake it off. Finish your cleaning and GO HOME. You have two whole weeks off that you’ve been waiting a year for!
She stuffed that anger back down into the deepest part of her being and finished prepping the restaurant for her annual Winter hiatus.
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She walked into her second-story apartment and began setting down all the bags of groceries she brought back from the resto. That should be enough to play with for two weeks!
A quick survey of the fridge made her realize the last time she ate at home was more than a month ago. Marie swooped everything out of there and into a large garbage bag and headed back downstairs to toss it in the trash.
As she approached the area around the back of the two-story vintage home, she saw bottles and cans lying everywhere. The trash and recycling bins were overflowing!
I’ve barely been home in a motherfucking month and that twat from downstairs who’s half my age can’t take the fucking cans down to the motherfucking street even motherfucking once?!!?
AAaaaarrrrgghhhhhhh……..!
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fucking FUCK!” Marie grumbled into the cold air.
Tempted to just throw her bag into the snow next to all the cans, she reminds herself to take deep breaths and think of all the delicious recipes she’ll be creating for her newest cookbook over the next couple of weeks.
Inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth.
Inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth.
Remember, you’re the best Chef in the state, everybody wants to eat at your Resto, and you’re booked up months in advance. You got this chickie!
Inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth.
Ok, that’s better.
Marie started packing down the trash that was in the bins and managed to make enough room for hers.
I’ll call the property management company in the morning and tell them what happened. They’ve already written up the first-floor apartment for receiving numerous complaints, might as well pile it on and maybe, just maybe, that lazy bitch will get tossed out on her tight little 25-year-old ass.
*sigh*
Deep breaths.
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Over the next three days, Chef Marie Kaets cooked her heart out, testing out a few new techniques along the way. She rarely got time to play like this! If it weren’t for her stupid downstairs neighbor bringing home a different guy to fuck loudly every night this would’ve been picture-perfect.
Deep breaths Marie. Relax. Just think about…
“MOOOOOOOOOOO!!! UNGA!!! OOOOOOgha!!! MOOOOOOOOoooooooo!!!”
I swear they brought a goddamn cow into the mix… why the fuck is she moo-ing?! Jesusfuckingchrist this chick could not be any more annoying. I’ll just turn up the TV and put earplugs in, hopefully, I’ll fall asleep…
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Ok, it’s a new day Chef Marie! Let’s keep a positive attitude. It’s nice and quiet downstairs, twatface must be gone for the day. Before I start searing my Rack of Lamb, I should run down and grab the mail.
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FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCKING FUCKER!!!
Marie looked at her mailbox, now on the ground in a pile of heavy wet snow- all the letters inside soaked.
Goddamnit! I know this was your fault twatface! You had to reach over to my mailbox to grab yours. So, you knock it down and then LEAVE IT THERE? What the actual FUCK is wrong with you?
Ok… wait. Deep breaths.
Maybe I’m approaching this the wrong way. I wonder if talking to her will help. ‘Tis the season of giving, and I know she eats alone every night because I can smell her godfuckingawful microwave dinners wafting up through the floor.
Ok. Yes, let’s try something different.
Marie went back upstairs and grabbed a notepad. She wrote an invite to come up for dinner, went back downstairs, and taped the peace offering to twatface’s door.
“I’ll have to try and remember what her actual name is by this evening I suppose…” Marie whispered aloud.
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The knock at the door came at 7 pm sharp. Wow, I’m so surprised she’s on time! Maybe this will work out after all.
Marie opened the door, and there twatface stood, in her pajamas and slippers. She couldn’t even bother to get fucking dressed?
A tiny bit of rage bubbled up inside.
Twatface chirped, “Thanks for inviting me! I’ve never been up here before and I’m starving! I heard you’re a line cook or something?”
More rage. Building. Hot. Grrrrrr…..
“I’m A CHEF,” I managed to say from between clenched teeth.
She pushed in front of me and jumped up the stairs. “WOW! This place is so weird! Is this your stuff? It’s all so creepy. Is that a movie poster? What’s Phantasm? It looks dumb. WOW, it says it was made in 1979! How OLD are you? I can’t imagine life past 30, I mean what’s the point right?!”
Marie laughed. What a silly silly girl. She’s so dumb she even has her back to me. She’s not scared at all. Well, she shouldn’t be I guess. It’ll be over fast. After all, I’m really good with knives.
