Drug Dealers!

So remember a couple post back how I said that a large amount of cooks are either drug or alcohol abusers. Well at this restaurant I met a whole group of them.  This should have been my first sign to realize that trouble was brewing but I didn’t think much about it. There were three black cooks at this restaurant and one black dish washer. The cooks were named Robby, Marcel, and one named street pharmacist, you’ll find out why later. Lastly the dish washers name I don’t remember but he was a Rastafarian, that I do remember.  So realizing that these individuals were drug dealers wasn’t the easiest thing to figure out, they were quite sneaky.  At first I thought they were just lazy because they would disappear off the line all the time but I was wrong.

So one day at work am on the line by myself and I call for something and no one brings it to me so I go to the back to grab it and lord behold there’s Marcel and the dishwasher counting large bills and just as I happen to walk by I see the dish washer slipping Marcel a little bag. I obviously pretended I didn’t see anything.

Another day the cook that was named Robby walks into work and looks pissed off completely, like steaming mad. Marcel asks him why he’s so mad and Robby replies “I don’t want to be here I could be making seventeen times as much money if I was at home right now”. Just then his phone rings and he’s like “look theirs $100 I lost.” What I found curious however was this little box Robby always carried around him it was completely black with a strap and it had a green lens on the front.  To my curiosity I was able to find out what that little green box was. One day while working with Robby I noticed that he kept looking out of the window, he seemed to be paranoid, like someone one was following him. The Rastafarian dish washer noticed as well and asked him.  Robby replied, “The cops are outside and there watching me.” As I look outside I notice an unmarked cop car an all brown ford crown Victoria, I notice two individuals sitting inside of the car, and that’s when I realized that the little box Robby carried around was because he was on house arrest.

Street pharmacist I don’t have much to say about because I never really talked to him. Even more we really didn’t get along to begin with.  Needless to say the one sentence I did say was “before this job, where did you work?” He simply replied with “I was a street pharmacist.” I never found out his real name while I was there so I just called him street pharmacist.