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Here's a little song about my day:

I HATE MY JOB I HATE MY JOB I HATE MY JOB.
I HATE MY JOB I HATE MY JOB I HATE MY JOB.
I HATE MY JOB I HATE MY JOB I HATE MY JOB.
I HATE MY JOB I HATE MY JOB I HATE MY JOB.
I HATE MY JOB I HATE MY JOB I HATE MY JOB.
I HATE MY JOB.

I. HATE. MY. JOB. SO. FUCKING. MUCH.

Consultants are the bottom-feeders of the restaurant world.

If you're such a hot-shot chef and you know so much about what it takes to run a successful restaurant, how come you run a swimming-pool snack bar and do consulting gigs on the side for extra cash, huh, jackass?

If you trained under Jean-Louis Palladin and worked in so many prestigious kitchens around the country (as you LOVE to mention at every opportunity), how come you're standing in a cafe in fucking Annapolis screaming for my respect?

Oh yeah, that's right. because you're a fucking washed-up loser who has never been able to do anything successful on your own and has nothing better to do in his middle age than get high and get off on waving your dick around (methaphorically, thank god) at young women.

I HATE MY JOB I HATE MY JOB I HATE MY JOB I HATE MY JOB I HATE MY JOB!!!!!