Broken
My dad was visiting his friend, Roger, at Roger’s new restaurant, and I tagged along. I was left in the kitchen to watch the chefs with the strictest of instructions not to touch anything. However, everything in the kitchen was fascinating. No, I didn’t care a thing for cooking. But I loved machinery and that kitchen was absolutely filled with big shiny machines. I went over to a counter no one was using and started playing with a meat slicer. In two minutes the turn handle was off in my hand. My dad was furious when he came back, until his friend said that it was already broken and he had been waiting on Hobart meat slicer parts to come in the mail. I was still in trouble, but no longer under the fear of death.
Add comment May 4th, 2009