Hot Potato

7. So, Now What?

I suppressed my excitement until I was outside the restaurant and well past the patio, heading back toward Cambie. Then as I released it, I added a slight spring to my steps to make my nips rub on the fleece and increase my euphoria. Chef Gigi. Feels so good. No longer Gigi, the unemployed.

Such an exciting kitchen. Way over-equipped for the number of seats – maybe they also do catering. Whatever, Duncan steered away from the reason, and Devin – or was it Kevin? Whichever, all he did was nod and shrug. Quiet fellow – likely overshadowed by Duncan's formal and aggressive style. Should be easy to work with.

If I accept the offer.

But why would I not?

Don't know anything about their background. That's why not. My pace slowed, and the springiness of my steps lessened, then disappeared. Couldn't find anything about them on the net.

Of course not. No time to look for Plimpton before the interview. The bouncy steps returned, as did the delightful tingling from the fleece. That's better. As thoughts of seducing Duncan flashed through my mind, I shook my head. Not now, Gigi. Focus. Need to Google them before I call Marcy; otherwise, she'll ask questions I can't answer.

Safely back home, I set the menus and wine list on the table and opened my computer. A search for plimpton vancouver brought up news sites and countless links to car crashes, so I added restaurant and refreshed the search. Almost the same results.

I clicked on the Vancouver Sun link titled Arnie Plimpton Killed in Car Crash. Oh, dear, God! A quick skim showed he had run his Ferrari at high speed into an abutment in Stanley Park.

With further reading there and on other sites, I learned the details. Twenty-nine and the heir to the family fortune. Happened on his way home from the opening party for his new restaurant. I winced. Enough tragedy. Enough information. Time to call Marcy.

She answered immediately with, "Hi, sweetie. Might be a bit late. We just got two huge tour busloads, and we're short-staffed. I need to take a station."

"How long?"

"Two more buses scheduled. Likely won't get there until nine thirty."

"That's fine. I've everything prepped. Five or six minutes to plate."

"Great! Gotta go."

"I got a job offer."

"What? Where?"

"Hot Potato Olympic Village."

"Never heard of it. Don't accept until we talk."

"That's why I called."

"I'll Google them when I get a moment. You do the same. Learn all you can. I really must go. Bye, sweetie."

I stared at the blank screen of my iPhone, nodding. She'll find the same nothing I found. Back into my computer, my searches brought nothing but stories about the accident, an obituary site and ads for funeral services, tow trucks and car repairs.

Then inspiration hit, and I entered restaurant review sites vancouver. Voila! Or should that be eureka?

Whatever, I entered TripAdvisor, typed plimpton's and clicked the 2nd and Crowe branch. Hmm! Two and a half stars out of five. Then, curious to see how it compares, I typed bacchus club and selected the Broadway and Ash location. Four and a half. Hot Potato has a lot of catching up to do.

Back to the Plimpton's page, I skimmed through the reviews. Not that many; only been open for two months. I cringed as I read, Microwaved supermarket freezer stuff is far better. If there had been a no stars option, I would have selected it. But it was out of the rain, so consider my star for that.

Ouch! I looked at the date – less than two weeks ago. Little wonder they need a new chef. But do I need them? What would it do to my reputation?

Hah! Unemployed sous chef. What kind of reputation is that?

But the challenge. Will they allow me the freedom to turn it around? Duncan said I can be part of rewriting the menus. Didn't baulk at my spouting philosophy. Strange, though. He seemed to not understand what it's about. Living under a rock, as Marcy would say. Or from back east, where they still haven't caught on.

I looked at other Plimpton's branches in TripAdvisor, finding many more reviews and higher averages – three and a half and four stars. But most of the recent ones, the last two months, were low, some of them one star and utterly scathing.

A no-brainer that the problem started with Arnie's death. Seems he left behind a rudderless ship, and nobody stepped in to repair it. Until now. The name change makes sense. Abandon the wreckage and build a new ship.

I chuckled. Getting poetic, Gigi. But it appears to be the reality of this. Big changes are needed, and... The email ping interrupted my thought, and I tabbed to look and open.

Hello, Gianna;

It was a great pleasure meeting with you.
Attached is the employment contract.
We trust you will find the terms favourable.
We look forward to having you join us.

Duncan

Smiling at his confidence, I typed a quick reply.

Thank you, Duncan;
I'll be back to you before eleven tomorrow.
GG

When it was sent, I opened the PDF attachment and skimmed through it. Nearly identical to the one at Cardinal's. I paged to the end to find the small script, ©2002-2018 LawDepot.ca®. Yup, same online service, so there shouldn't be anything funny.

I went to my desk drawer, pulled out the Cardinal's file and found the contract. Then back at the computer, I scrolled down the PDF comparing the two. Word for word, identical until I got to the job title. Executive Chef instead of Sous Chef. Then the sameness continued until the paragraph on compensation – $22.00 per hour at Cardinal's and $24.00 at Hot Potato.

Other differences farther down were three weeks paid vacation instead of the two I had at Cardinal's and six weeks notice of termination instead of John's four. Everything else was identical, including the one-month probationary period.

Shortly after I had begun comparing them again, just to make sure, my phone vibrated and lit up with Marcy's photo. Still on silent from my interview. I flipped the switch, thumbed in and answered, "Hey, Marce."

"Can't find them. Don't commit to anything."

"They used to be Plimpton's, and they've –"

"Oh, what a tragedy that was."

"I've just read about it. The news hadn't reached under my rock."

"Chain's gone way downhill since."

"They've just been bought out, and a turnaround appears to be in the works."

"Still need to be careful, Gigi. Let me see what I can learn – if I can get a breather in this chaos. Another waitress just booked off sick. Gotta go, sweetie."

I was again left staring at the blank screen of my iPhone. So, now what?

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Points to consider in this chapter:

What do you think about Gigi's apparent dependence on Marcy?

Does your opinion of Hot Potato change? If so, How?

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