Chef, knowing quite a bit of Spanish, has been forced into the unweidly position of translating all conversation between the Spanish-speaking employees and the English-speaking employees, everything from raises to days off to recipes, everything. He’s happened to strike up an unusual relationship with the kitchen’s most current dishwasher, Chevo.
Chevo is a quirky guy. For example, when pondering what kind of special the executive chef should run for the night, Chevo answered, “Mi pito,” while grabbing his groin with a flourish. “Es muy especial.”
The music in the kitchen is a great source of entertainment and contention. Chef, being a snob like yours truly, prefers to run the stereo so as not to be tortured with bands like HIM and NIN. He tends to prefer the kind of music with which he tortures me.* Chevo is a fan of traditional Mexican music, and cannot bear the crap we stupid Americans listen to. Chef put in an Iron and Wine CD tonight. Chevo rolled up two paper towels and stuffed them in his ears.
Last week another chef in the kitchen put on a long Dane Cook stand-up comedy CD, the likes of which left Chevo bored for hours while the rest of the kitchen yukked it up to the funny. Esta noche, Chevo asked if he could change the music at the end of the night and replaced the raucous American rock n’ roll with his own stand-up comedy. In Spanish.
Chef understands a great deal of Spanish, but this CD was a miasma. Chevo laughed and laughed. Chef believes Chevo’s enjoyment has a lot less to do with the contents of the comedy and more to do with having fun with his cultural pride — at his coworkers’ expense.
Long live Chevo. Happy Mexican Independence Day.
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* I enjoy most of it. On occasion I pepper his evenings with reggae to get him back. Sweet revenge.
Should I be proud or embarrassed that I had to look up HIM on Wikipedia?
Pride. Go with pride. Really.