I’m standing over a steaming pot of ragù, stirring as I listen to the sizzle and pop of ingredients melding together in culinary harmony.
The kitchen is a whirlwind of activity, the dinner rush in full swing. But amidst the orchestrated chaos, a discordant note strikes my ears. It's John, my head chef, talking to another member of the kitchen staff.
“The guy just can’t get it together,” John grumbles. “It’s like he’s deficient or something. Honestly, why Abby even hired him of all people is beyond me.”
I immediately recognize that he’s talking about Karl. I would normally be bothered by this sort of talk to people’s faces, but today is Karl’s day off, which makes the conversation even more inappropriate.
And despite what I think about Karl, it’s not cool to be talking beh
