“Gooooooood morning Vietnam!” I shouted as I walked into the restaurant kitchen.

“Dude, it’s 4:00 pm,” one of my line cooks grumbled at me.

“And this isn’t Vietnam,” added my sous chef.

I smiled back. “No but it’s Valentine’s Day on a Friday, and I’m not ‘dude’ to you. I’m your fucking boss, so put some respect on my name.”

He flipped me off. Ah well. I set up my station, making sure to get everything perfect before the ensuing chaos began. I knew there wouldn’t be time to breathe once dinner service started.

The restaurant doors opened. The manager popped in with a nod.

“Til Valhalla,” she said.

I nodded back. “Do your worst.”

My sous chef shook himself to wake up. The line cook went into the freezer, probably to do a quick bump. Whatever. This was what I lived for.