After Being Fined as a Chef in My Daughter's Restaurant, I Smiled

I worked as a chef in my daughter's restaurant for five years. Up before dawn, on my feet till late, not a single day off, and not one cent in wages.

Then one day, mouth dry from the rush, I grabbed a bottle of water off the shelf and drank it.

My son-in-law saw. He walked straight over and handed me a fine.

"Dad, there's a rule here. Staff aren't allowed to take store goods for themselves. You just drank a bottle of water. That's a ten-thousand-dollar fine. Cash or transfer?"

I stared at him, not believing it.

"I've worked here five years. Ten, twelve hours a day at the stove, and I've never asked you two for a cent. And now, over one bottle of water, you want ten thousand from me?"

He said it without a flicker of doubt.

"One thing has nothing to do with the other. I'm grateful you come help out. But taking store property is a matter of principle. There has to be a penalty."

His mother put her hands on her hips and chimed in.

"Exactly. This time you only got caught because my son happened to see it. Who knows how much you've helped yourself to when nobody was looking? Ten thousand's letting you off easy."

I looked at my daughter, thinking she would say something fair.

Instead she said, gravely,

"Dad, Rupert and I didn't have it easy opening this place. Stop trying to take advantage of us. Just pay the ten thousand."

I didn't argue. I didn't make a scene. I transferred them the ten thousand right there.

But that ten thousand wasn't a fine for them.

It was a lesson.

The kind of lesson that would leave them crying with no tune to cry to.

1

"Dad, the worst thing in this business is someone stealing. I can't turn a blind eye to what you did just because you're my father-in-law. Hurry up and transfer the ten thousand."

My son-in-law Rupert James finished and held out his payment code.

Seeing Rupert press me over the fine, the staff all stopped what they were doing and turned to look at me, every one of them.

Under all those eyes I felt uneasy all over, and my voice shook a little.

"Rupert, I just drank a bottle of water in my own daughter's restaurant. How does that make me a thief?"

I'd given five whole years to this restaurant of my daughter's. Never took a cent in wages. Up before dawn, on my feet late, ten, twelve hours a day standing over the stove.

Often so worn out I couldn't straighten my back, my hands never free of burns and knife cuts.

I honestly couldn't understand it. After five whole years of this, didn't I even deserve to drink one dollar bottle of water in my own daughter's shop?

Rupert frowned and said coldly,

"Dad, if you're going to work here, you follow the rules here. Don't keep thinking you can pull rank because of who you are."

Me, pulling rank?

If I'd wanted to pull rank on account of who I am, I wouldn't be doing the hardest work in the place for nothing!

My chest ached. I couldn't help turning to my daughter at the register and asking quietly,

"Jackie, do you think I should pay this too?"

She looked at me, hesitated for two seconds, then said with a helpless sigh,

"Dad, Rupert's right. You come help out at the shop, and we do remember it, we're grateful.

"But the shop has its rules. A bottle of water isn't worth much, sure, but once you start that, everyone else will learn to take things too, and then how do we run this place?

"Opening a restaurant isn't easy for us. Don't try to grab this little bit."

I stared at her, blank, and truly could not understand how she could think I was the one grabbing at little advantages.

These five years, how I'd lived them, had she really not seen?

Five years ago, my daughter's restaurant had just opened.

I'd just retired then, and I'd meant to rest a while. I was getting old, my knees hurt badly, and the doctor had told me to stand less, tire myself less.

But my daughter came to me and begged, over and over.

"Dad, my restaurant just opened, I really can't afford a chef. You worked head chef at a grand hotel for decades, you've got the experience and the skill. Come help me.

"I promise, once the place gets going, I'll never treat you unfairly. You name your wages, and everything in the shop, you'll have the say."

Seeing how helpless she looked, my heart ached for her.

On the spot I said I didn't want wages. I'd help her for free.

For five years, I got up at four every morning and went to the earliest market run to pick out the freshest ingredients.

At the shop by five: washing, chopping, prepping, simmering the stock.

Customers started at eleven, and I stood at the stove and cooked for four, five hours straight, without so much as a chance to drink water.

Not until past two in the afternoon did I get a moment to breathe, shoveling down a few bites of cold leftovers before it was straight on to prepping for the evening.

At night it was another round of the pans flying and roaring, the smoke and grease stinging my eyes red, my arms too sore to lift.

By the time the last customer left and I'd cleaned the kitchen, it was often eleven at night.

In five years, I never took a single day off.

Even at the holidays, when other families gathered together warm and happy, I was at the shop, minding the stove.

Because my daughter said those holiday days were the best for business, we couldn't close.

I always told myself, this is my daughter's livelihood. If I give a little more, these young people can have it a little easier.

Later, as business kept getting better, I was run off my feet in that kitchen every day, my clothes so soaked with sweat you could wring them out.

But I never complained once.

Because it was my daughter's shop.

Because I ached for her.

And now, over one dollar bottle of water, I was branded a thief and fined ten thousand in front of everyone.

And on top of it all, I'd been stuck with the charge of grabbing at petty advantages.

Seeing that I still hadn't moved, my son-in-law's mother, Ada Chavez, folded her arms across her chest and said in that snide tone,

"Some people look honest on the surface. Who knows what they're really like behind your back.

"This time he only got caught stealing water because my son happened to see it. Who knows how much he's helped himself to in this shop when we weren't watching?

"If you ask me, a ten-thousand fine is going easy on him."

At that, I couldn't help clenching my fists.

These five years, not only had I never taken a cent in wages, I'd often paid out of my own pocket for the groceries and seasonings.

I'd given everything for this restaurant, and in the end they took me for some thief who couldn't show his face in the light?

I was about to speak when my daughter looked at me and said, cold,

"Dad, out of respect for the fact that you're my father, I won't dig into whatever you may have done before.

"But this time, everyone's watching. If we don't handle it properly, how are we supposed to manage the other staff after this?

"Stop being stubborn. Pay the fine."