some interesting goodies in the employee locker-room as well, fallen
from hastily removed uniforms, so an enterprising fellow can
supplement his income in all sorts of ways.
As no one else wants the job, or even wants to stay up all night watching
him do the job, or wants to train someone else to do the job, he's got a
pretty secure position—even if suspected of occasional petty thievery.
Even a known sneak-thief porter is a valued employee, as long as he
knows what he can steal and what he can't. There are, I'm sure, many
apartments in the outer reaches of Queens that are fully furnished with
the glassware, utensils and kitchen equipment of many a restaurant. And
a guy who knows where to buy a Green Card and a Social Security
number for thirty bucks probably knows what to do with a hot credit card
or where to fence a used Burberry raincoat. Nobody minds-much.
Besides, the guy is probably stealing less than the bartender.
The Bartender: The Chef's Friend
There has long been a happy symbiotic relationship between kitchen and
bar. Simply put, the kitchen wants booze, and the bartender wants food.
The bartender, seeing himself (rightly) as a more exalted creature than
the waiters, would like to eat a little better than the employee gruel
hardening under the heat lamps between four and five. By the end of his
shift, he's hungry, and chicken legs and day-old pasta don't fit with the
bartender's image of himself as raconteur, showman and personality. He
wants to be treated as special. And he usually is. The chef wants to drink
anything he desires, anytime he wants it, without upper management
being fully informed of the extent of his alcoholism or his taste for
premium liquors. And the bartender is usually happy to help—if handled
correctly.
The bartender, being the guy every employee gripes to at one point or