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This is quite new, so be nice to it. Sorry about it just stopping like it does. I hope it'll develop into something bigger. Oh, and it was inspired by a particularly nasty meal.
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He checked the address given to him. He looked at the building. And then back at the address.
Alan?s employment agency ? his glorious, wonderful, ?soon to be burnt to a crisp if he gets his way? agency ? had sent him to a job at Cosy?s; The World?s First Sex-Themed Restaurant ?. Oh, joy. After spending many hours joking with colleagues about this new establishment, and how desperate you?d have to be work there, he now found himself halfway through the worst catering recession anyone had ever known, about to cross the threshold into culinary Hell. He steadied his nerve, thought about the pile of red bills crouching beneath his letterbox at home, and stepped inside.
The first person he saw once he?d entered was a cleaner emptying a wastepaper bin. He nodded to Alan, and Alan nodded back. He grimly wondered what else the cleaner has to deal with around here, and walked on to find someone who looked like they were in charge.
Inside was a dining hall, with the chairs stacked up on the tables. There was a woman polishing one free tabletop, so Alan asked where he could find the manager, Mr Forbes. She jerked a thumb towards the back of the building. He walked through the tables, peering through a forest of upturned chair legs. There were two doors at the far end, both with small round windows at head height. This?d be the way to the kitchen, he guessed, and since there were no other likely looking doors around (except for the toilets, and Alan kind of hoped he wouldn?t be in there) he went through.
He was greeted, as he?d expected, by the sight of a large kitchen. People worked busily but not frantically, and Alan was drawn towards two men ? both in their late forties, the taller one in a chef?s uniform, the other in a drab grey suit ? discussing earnestly a piece of paper the suited man was holding. Sensing Alan nearing, the suited man looked up and smiled. The chef held the newcomer with a sterner look. Alan offered his hand to shake and introduced himself.
?Marwood,? he said and smiled, ?I?m from the agency.?
Alan saw the suited man look at his watch and then turn to the chef and gently slap him on the arm as if chiding him for some earlier act of pessimism. About punctuality, Alan assumed. He wondered if having already proved his ability to tell the time would count greatly in his favour, while the suited man introduced himself .
?Mr. Forbes,? he shook Alan by the hand, and pushed his glasses back up his nose so as to get a better look at the prospective employee, ?good to see you FOUND THE PLACE. It?s funny, but many people sent here by the agencies tend to get lost and never arrive. Can?t imagine why.? He smiled again, as did the chef (although in a more unpleasant sardonic way).
?So why don?t you advertise for kitchen staff in the papers?? Alan asked.
?Goodness me, we never take anyone who?s applied direct to us. At the risk of sounding snobbish, we don?t want to employ anyone who?d actually WANT TO WORK for us, d?you see? We?d always worry about their motives.?
Alan found Mr Forbes? habit of putting unnecessary emphasis on words quite reassuring. This man was clearly no smooth talking lothario. No medallioned gibbon who flaunts sex as if he invented it ? it really seemed like he was just a businessman who?d found a gap in the market and was very successful in filling it. He turns Alan?s attention towards the tall wiry man in the chef?s outfit.
?This is our head chef, Barthes,? Mr. Forbes introduced, ?he?s strict, but fair. Barthes, this is the new boy from the agency. Marwood. He?s worked at the Ritz, you know.?
Barthes is unimpressed. ?Who hasn?t?? and after a brief, slightly soggy handshake (Alan made sure he was out of his eyeline before wiping his hand dry) Mr Forbes puts an arm around Alan?s shoulders and says, ?let me show you the layout, AS IT WERE.?
The first person we came to was a youngish man in a faded t-shirt of a band Alan had never heard of, standing beside the large industrial dish-washing machine. There followed a brief shaking of hands and a nodded greeting.
?Ah, from the head chef, to the dishwasher in a few quick steps. But that?s catering for you.? Mr Forbes seemed tickled pink by this example of culinary communism. ?This is Oliver. He?s a student. Actually, he?s a friend of the family. Last dishwasher we had was caught stealing.?
?From the till?? Alan asked.
?No, from the larder,? he shakes his head and laughs a little, ?that?s the last time we employ a horny virgin, that?s for sure.?
?Do you like it here?? Alan asked the dishwasher, sounding uncomfortably like a visiting dignitary. The student shrugged a reply. Mr Forbes leaps in to cover the silence.
?Like I said, a friend of the family. Really, he?s doing us a favour, filling in until we can get someone more regular. He?s a small but important cog in our machinery,? Mr Forbes smiled at the taciturn dishwasher and turned Alan away from him in the search for something new to explain.
They walked along a counter, and Alan slowly adjusted to how normal it all seemed. As they walked Mr Forbes idly rapped on each of a row of hanging saucepans and sang along with the noise they made. No one here seemed to find that in the slightest bit odd, but since this is the sort of place where Pussy Galore is the soup of the day, perhaps that?s only to be expected. Alan is presently introduced to a woman, short and dumpy, who turned out to be the assistant chef. Called Judy Bottrill, she was kind enough to be impressed when Mr Forbes mentioned the Ritz again. She noticed Alan eyes slowly drawn to a jar nearby containing a clear viscous liquid ? he?s unable to read the name because the label?s turned away. All he can tell is the first word begins with ?va? and the second with ?j?.
?Don?t worry if it all seems odd,? she said, ?at first you?re bound to feel a bit squeamish when handling some of the ingredients. People are always a bit freaked out the first time they?re asked to make cum souffl?, but it?ll soon become second nature.? She smiled broadly, and he, rather gimpishly, smiled back. ?She?s nice,? he thought. ?everyone here?s nice. God help me, I?m starting to feel at home.?
Next on the tour of the kitchen was a guy, similar age as Alan, also in a chef?s outfit, although he described himself as ?just a grunt - a foot soldier? when prompted by Mr Forbes. Forbes laughs, and told him he?s a little more valued than that. It is explained that this man, Peter, is who?ll be guiding Alan through his early days here.
?Yeah,? he squinted and stared off into the middle distance as if reflecting on some great truth, ?it?s pretty tough at first, but if you know your food, you can?t go much wrong. Don?t forget, though,? he looked straight at Alan, ?that our flavourings are a little more? controversial than you?re used to, so delicacy is the key.?
He opened a cupboard next to his head and gestured at the jars lined up inside while still talking.
?No one likes too much urine with their duck, and never get back-sweat and foot-sweat mixed up. Two completely different things. One?s sweet and the other?s savoury.?
Alan stood there, aghast. Apart from the jar earlier, with it?s label turned coyly away, this was the first blatant example of what it was he was dealing with here. Bodily fluids. Secretions from every pore or orifice you care to mention. Peter closed the cupboard and Alan involuntarily leaned over to try and catch one last glimpse of them before they?re shut away again. Mr Forbes meanwhile clapped his hands together and laughed.
?Excellent,? he declared, ?you?ll fit in perfectly here.?
?I will??
?Of course! Why, compared to some, your reaction just then was a picture of restraint. We?ve had some people pass out. One poor dear just screamed and ran out of the building ? AS IF WE'RE THE STRANGE ONES!?
Alan smiled involuntarily, pleased that he?s passed such an important test, yet instantly mortified that he may actually fit in here. His mind whirls with the repercussions of taking a job that?d open him to ridicule and hostility from his peers. While the restaurant business has never been the most stable in the world, a recent bad spell of closures and redundancies in the industry, while Cosy?s has continued to flourish, has provoked some bitterness amongst many of his friends ? and, previously, himself too.
Once more Mr Forbes guides Alan towards the next part of his tour. The walk-in refrigerator was given short shift, although Alan would?ve liked to have spent much more time in there, examining the lurid range of flavourings they have in stock. Instead Mr Forbes merely opened the door, gave a vague wave of the hand, and was off again. Alan couldn?t let the moment pass and as they walked he asked:
?Where does this stuff come from??
Mr Forbes didn?t pause as he walked.
?Hm? Stuff? You mean our range of exotic flavourings? From the Far East, mostly.?
?The Far East??
?Yes, it?s become quite a cottage industry over there, I believe, especially with all our imitators ? you don?t know how often I wish I?d patented this idea. Still, YOU LIVE AND LEARN.?
?Why the Far East?? Alan persisted. Mr Forbes shrugged.
?Not everything, of course. There?s some stuff we use that just doesn?t travel. But mostly we use them because they?re so discrete. And also because they were our suppliers when we started out. No one else had faith in us, except them, so we?ve stuck with them. Many of the women we use think of working for us as much more agreeable than prostitution. You can?t blame them, can you? I mean, what would you rather? Being clumsily humped by some idiot businessman you?ve never met before, or being gently swabbed by a scientist who, after a few weeks, you?d probably build up quite a rapport with, eh??
It all made a horrible kind of sense, Alan thought, put like that.
?So you serve? everything??
?Pretty much,? Mr Forbes spoke with an airy tone that displayed his familiarity with the subject, ?vaginal, penile, sweat, saliva, mucus, regrettably. Anything you can think of.?
?Even? shit??
?We do serve faeces,? Mr Forbes? face was a picture of disgust, ?but it?s difficult to store and we?ve always had problems with the supplier. Besides, we don?t like the clientele it attracts,? Mr Forbes? face by now had turned very sour as he continued.
?They keep asking what?s in it, and telling us how runny they want it,? he shakes his head and waves a hand about as if to banish the thought, ?but we have to keep ahead of the opposition, you know. And if we advertise ourselves as purveyors of the finest human excretions, then I suppose we have to put up with these things.?
We walk out into the dining hall again. The cleaner?s now begun taking the chairs down from the tables, and there?s a woman just walking in, wearing a big grey coat, and carrying a bag Alan recognised as being from the sandwich shop across the road.
?Ah, Julie,? Mr Forbes called out, ?you?re here. This is Alan Marwood, the agency sent him down about the vacancy. We were just talking about serving faeces.?
It must be said that when Alan meets an attractive woman he really would rather she didn?t know he?d just been talking about shit.
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I'm impressed. Very well done. The only real roughness I see is some wrong tense being used (which is my own weakness).
It's amazing what a bad meal can inspire. http://www.hostboard.com/ubb/wink.gif
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Branflakes, the ninja lesbian milk getter.
The one called "brain" and "brandiflakes" and....
I'm tired of the silent majority. Silence equals death.
Life is what you make it.
"I believe you can't control or choose your sexuality"-Savage Garden
God never gives us more than we can handle. We just don't always know that.
You're going to have to deal with my ego at some point.
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Yeah, the whole past/present thing has always been a problem, especially since I started this in the present tense, and the later rewrote it in the past. Guess I missed a few.
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Well, far from taking off quite the way I'd hoped, another bout of writer's block has left this one becalmed before it's really got out of harbour. Did manage to get this out, even though it's just the bare bones of the scene. As you can tell, this is supposed to go soon after the job interview.
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?So how did it go? Where did they send you??
All that Derek knew about Alan?s day was the note about a call from the employment agency Alan had left him on the coffee table that morning. Once through the door of our flat he was greeted by a barrage of questions in the same way a dog let?s fly with a volley of barks the second it hears the front door open.
?It went fine. It?s this place in town.?
?Well, in town. That?s good. Where is it? Soho? Is it a restaurant or a hotel?!?
?A restaurant.?
?Great. Well known, or an up-and-coming bijou out of the way type of affair? Which cuisine? French or Greek? Italian or Thai? Throw a starving man some scraps here, I need to know.?
Alan sat down and looked through the mail, giving the junk mail a little more attention than normal. Derek sat nearby, perched on the edge of the sofa, elbows on knees, hands clasped together, eyes expectant of the news to come.
?It?s Cosy?s,? said Alan as nonchalantly as possible, but still unable to meet Derek?s eyes. Derek chuckled.
?Aha. Cosy?s. When I asked which cuisine, I didn?t expect the answer to be ?repellent?. You?re joking, right??
Alan shook his head.
?But you told them you didn?t want the job, right? You can?t work there.?
?Why not? We need the money.?
?Why not? It?s not normal, that?s why not! What?s wrong with you?? Derek pulled a face at the thought, ?eating bodily? fluids in a meal. It?s almost cannibalism.?
?Have you ever gone down on a woman?? asked Alan. Derek nodded, ?Well, do you consider than cannibalism.?
?No, but then I didn?t do it in a public place with a glass of wine and a side salad!?
?It?s not as bad as you think ? ?
?Alan, Alan, Alan,? Derek stood up and walked around, ?they have customers who eat excrement! Can you imagine that? The whole idea? it?s like asking someone to make duck a l?orange, and then to ruin it by pissing on it.?
?They don?t do it themselves, they have it sent in.?
?Oh, of course. Any old urine won?t do. It has to be IMPORTED!?
?Look, it?s not worth having this argument. I may not even get the job.?
?Oh my God, you mean you may be REJECTED from there? Imagine how it feels to be told you don?t know how to add cum to the pate de foi gras.?
?You?re overreacting.?
Derek leant over Alan, his hands on both arms of the armchair, face close to Alan?s, and he said in mock solemnity, ?I?m sorry, sir, but we don?t think you?re qualified to put shit in the gespacho soup.?
Alan laughed and pushed Derek away.
?So how was your day? What did you do towards earning a little money? Did you sign up with that temp agency??
?Pah. Temp agencies are basically pimps. I?ll have nothing to do with them.?
?Was there anything in the job centre.?
?You know I can?t go in there. They?ve employed someone who was in my year at school. The embarrassment would be too much.?
?What about the local paper??
?I don?t like their politics.?
?You only have to look at the job section!?
?I still don?t trust them.?
?What about your dad? Can?t he get you a job??
?Listen, my dad may be one of the country?s foremost theatre directors, doesn?t mean I have to abuse my position and get some work through him!?
?You already asked, huh??
?I practically begged,? Derek said as he walked into the kitchen, ?he said I had to find a job myself. Apparently it?s character building.?
?Well, he got that right,? Alan called out in reply, ?it?s turned you into a skinflint misanthrope.?
?It has not!? Derek?s voice rang out from the favourable acoustics of the kitchen, ?You fucker! You?re just as bad as everyone else? Can I borrow some milk??
?Help yourself.?
?Thanks? Do you want some tea??
?Yes please.?
Derek appeared at the door, kettle in hand.
?Do you want me to spit in it? You know, get you used to your new job.?
Alan laughed, despite himself.
?That won?t be necessary. I have no intention of bringing my work home with me.?
?I?m glad to hear it. I?d hate to think that when I ask for cream in my coffee, I have to explain what I mean.?
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i like these guys. i like this scene, too--helps us fully realize what a fairly normal guy Alan is. i'm a bit confused, though--are they roommates/flatmates/housemates? i thought they were up until Derek asked to borrow some milk. (i liked the cream in the coffee joke, too. ;)
all in all, i dig it, can't wait to hear (well, read) more. i think you've got a nice blend of humor and normalcy with a dash of self-deprication in to make this work.
-g
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Sometimes i think everyone on this board is crazy. The rest of the time i'm sure. -Dan :)
somehow i see [gollum] clinging to a tower and rousingly calling for a new world order. -starky
food is food & sex is sex
i'vehadmyfill
iwanttodefect
-ra di o he(a)d
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Yeah, I like this. Well-done scene, Ersby. Gollum brought up all my points for me.
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Branflakes. It's what's for breakfast.
The original ninja lesbian milk getter.
The one called "brain" and "brandiflakes" and....
I'm tired of the silent majority. Silence equals death.
Life is what you make it.
"I believe you can't control or choose your sexuality"-Savage Garden
God never gives us more than we can handle.
You're going to have to deal with my ego at some point.
