And it's begun, the quartering of G***. Some of the customers, a lot of them, they're going to miss him. Not so much that they'd boycott the place, after all, why confuse ethics with good food? But still, they liked him.
Others are a little less kind. They're the sycophants that declare to the owner they never liked his style of service, found him rude, abrupt, ill-timed, too aggressive, all of which can be forgiven if you know where he worked. They're shitbags, we keep our mouths shut, but they're not our favorite customers...
The owner, he's rejoicing, these post-mortem testimonials, they're all he needed to indict, condemn, him, meanwhile he'd tolerated S** and Z** for years, servers who'd polarized the customers far more than G***, a lot of our customers liked G***, the Nephew, his replacement, is easily more despised by a long shot, but nobody's complaining about him...
...and lets be real, if everybody likes you, we've a thousand regulars, well, if everybody likes you, well, something's wrong...
And G***, he's calling A******, wants to talk, about the restaurant, about nothing, he's in despair, and I can't help but think how fucked up do you gotta be to miss this place? Really?