Kitchen Life: Enter the Dish Pig

While Matt was busy insuring that FNG had set up his station well enough to get through lunch, a strange and somewhat odd looking figure entered the kitchen.

He stood 6’ 2” and appeared roughly to be 200 pounds. His black uniform was matched by his black mask. FNG happened to look up from his station to see this rather strange sight. He quietly contemplated whether or not he made a good choice his job selection.

“Hey Dish Pig! How are you today?” Shaun asked.

“I am Fine. Thank you for Asking!” Dish Pig answered. His Politeness was enough to make FNG question Dish Pigs motives.

“Catch any criminals last night?” Shaun asked. His sarcasm was as subtle as a swan dive that took a wrong turn to a belly flop.

“None. It seems that crime took the night off. It's all greek to me, I mean I do not understand. How could criminals just let a city alone, it just does not add up.” Dish Pig was sure that a criminal syndicate somewhere in the city was planning an attack of epic proportions.

“Don't worry, maybe tonight will be the night!” Van encouraged. Dish Pig also wasn’t fluent in any other language thus his words were lost to Dish Pig.

“Excuse me? I did not quite catch that.” Dish Pig said. His voice trying to strike fear into the heart of Van Couver.

Van slapped his forehead out of frustration and retorted, “Never mind. Fucking people, I mean why can't why all just speak one language?” Van’s physical actions were comical even though he was being serious.

Dish Pig leaned into Shaun and whispered, “What is he saying? I never have trusted him. He is quite shady, perhaps I shall keep my watchful eye upon that foreigner.”

“Do whatever you think is necessary.” Shaun replied. His focus was more on not losing a finger while he was cutting carrots for stock rather then on the antics of Van and Dish Pig.

Dish Pig patted Shaun on the back and said, “Indeed, my young friend. And rest assure that under this mask is someone who cares for the whole of humanity! Now...” Dish Pig raised his right arm and extended his index finger. “TO THE DISH PIT!”

Maggie entered the kitchen just as Dish Pig made his bold exclamation and said, “Hey Dish Pig, your looking good today! Have you been working out?”

Dish Pig lowered his arm and struck a heroic pose. “Why, yes. I have. Thank you for noticing, you charming young lass, but now I must fight the one true nemesis I have here. It is time to free all those poor and helpless dishes break free from the evil clutches of GREASE AND GRIM! For I am the advent of cleanliness! I am DISH PIG!!!” Dish Pig dashed off to save the poor helpless dishes.

***

INTERLUDE: Dish Pig’s Story.

Six months ago in a kitchen south east of the Cheshire. The hero known as the Dish Pig was a short order cook. He wasn’t always a hero, at times he was right down ridiculous.

To give you an example, two days before this interlude occurs, the Dish Pig had accidentally aided a robbery. Yes, even heroes are prone to make mistakes.

The events that took place are as follows:

The night was cool and Dish Pig had just gotten off shift. He (in these days, he was known as Donnie) was walking home and saw a masked man and a old lady with a walker having an epic battle over a hand bag.

As any good citizen would do, Dish Pig went to save the day. Unfortunately Dish Pig got bested by the masked man and he forcefully took the bag from the old lady with the walker and handed it gently handed it to the masked man. The masked man then sprinted away laughing as Dish Pig faced the wrath of the old lady with the walker.

This day however was not like his earlier misadventure. It was a completely different misadventure.

Dish Pig worked over the flat-top. Quesadillas and philly beef sandwiches were his specialty. After he finished cooking the pub slop, he began to clean the grill using the prescribed cleaning solution. Suddenly a bunch of steam rose from the grill and hit him in the face! Dish Pig backed away from the flat-top held his face and fell to his knees.

“NNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” Dish Pig wailed. His cry was loud enough to turn the heads of all the patrons in the dingy little pub.

As Dish Pig was convulsing on the floor two of his fellow cooks enter the kitchen to start their shift. Their mild and crude conversation ended abruptly as they see Dish Pig on the floor.

The first cook to enter the kitchen turned to the second cook to enter the kitchen and asks, “What’s he doing?”

“I don’t know.” The second cook replies. After this short exchange they both leaned against the counter to watch and figure out what exactly was going on.

Dish Pig felt every nerve of his being change and transform into something not quite human as he flopped around on the ground. His eyes rolled into the back of his skull, his teeth clenched, and then it was all over. Dish Pig lay on the ground. Still as someone that had just dropped dead of a heart attack.

Cook one with about as much enthusiasm and exuberance of a rock asked, “Is he dead?”

“How should I know? Go poke him in the ribs, or something.” The second cook replied.

Cook one was bewildered at the mere thought and said, “Fuck that! If he is dead, then it will look like I killed him!”

“Fine you big puss, I’ll do it.” The second cook responded.

He grabbed the fryer poker that was on the counter behind him and slowly walked over to Dish Pig. He then gently poked him in the back once, Dish Pig didn’t move. He poked him again a few more times, yet still no response. The second cook went to poke him once more, but just then, Dish Pig got up slowly to his knees, then he stood up.

“I AM...” Dish Pig started, but then pause for dramatic effect as he turned around. “A SUPER HERO!!!” Dish Pig finished. This again was enough to turn the heads of the slum that inhabited the pub south east of the Cheshire.

***