I've got a proposition for you. One that Maison might even like.
It's coming up to that special day of the restaurant year where you get it, as you said last year, "no lube, sandpaper side facing [your] balls." Valentine's, your own personal hell. Here's where the idea comes in: I wanna work the line that night.
Well. Not work the line, really, your guys wouldn't have it. But be your pantry bitch or something? I wanna see how the restaurant goes on its craziest night. See how a high class establishment gets shit done.
All I ask in return is some of the family meal and the right to slam a saute pan on fingers that feel me up. What do you say?