I get it, addiction is a disease and for those going through it, it’s hell. While I applaud those who are seeking treatment, I’m not going put up with people shooting up and leaving needles in the alley behind my restaurant.
No, I’m not going to be nice when I see you. I’m going to get big and tell you to stay the fuck away or face consequences. I’m not the guy you want to mess with on the best of days and definitely not while I’m cooking.
“Some men….you just can’t reach.”
It’s pointless to attempt to rationalize with a junkie. In that state, they’re really not human beings and they are unable to understand cause and effect. The addiction is far louder than even my baritone voice.
I’m not a total asshole and I told the guy twice that he needed to stay away. I guess since I didn’t beat his ass the first time, he didn’t take me seriously the second and told me to fuck off. This was a mistake, a very bad mistake.
He was right, I wasn’t going to beat him up mainly due to the fact that he was disgusting and I didn’t want to get within ten feet of him. Still, something had to be done.
I got high as fuck trying to figure it out out and when I did, I couldn’t hit the “buy now” button fast enough.
He never saw it coming…
It took a few days to get the package and then catch the vermin on camera but when I did it felt like getting a new bike for Christmas.
I watched him look around then sit down on my motherfucking milk crate (Chefs will understand) and pull out his gear. I waited in the office watching him, only a few feet from the back door. It was when I saw him get the needle up to his arm that I took action.
130 decibels is loud.
It must have sounded like hell opened when I kicked the door open and blasted the air horn only a few feet from the guy. It was way louder than I expected and I’ve never seen a guy jump that hard.
The needle was jammed in his arm, the hit was wasted and he started to scream but I couldn’t hear him thanks to the 130 decibels blasting from the air horn.
“Stay HOOOOONK the fuck HOOOOONK out of HOOOOONK my motherfucking HOOOOONK alley you HOOOOONK junkie piece of HOOOOONK shit! Next time I’m unloading bear spray!
It wouldn’t surprise me to know he’d shit himself but you wouldn’t know by the smell. He didn’t run but I’ve never seen someone stagger or stumble so fast and I was sure he was going to to fall on his face with each step.
My boss wasn’t impressed with my actions yet deep down I know she was. As I said before, the guy was suffering from a disease and I don’t wish ill will on him. At the same time, I’m not the guy you tell to fuck off.
I cook for a living. Been in the kitchen for 17 years. My title is “chef” I suppose. I’ve also struggled with addiction in myself, my family, and my friends for longer than I’ve been cooking. So I have empathy for the junkie. But no one sits on my milk crate. My coworkers know that mine is the gray one and no one sits on it. I would have done the same thing you did if I was in the same situation. I applaud you with no sarcasm.
In all seriousness, I hope I scared the guy sober and he turned his life around. I hope he’s talking about me in a meeting right now about how his wake up call was a pissed off Chef with an air horn.