Hell night #2 I wore a fire-engine red Nautica sweater w/ grey slacks and my new pair of all-black Converse Allstar low-tops to work. Upon arriving I immediately donned a zebra-striped red & black pair of devil horns for my head, and strapped two foot black wings on my back. I also wore a mask to protect my nasal passages from the Scotch Bell and African Fatalii pepper vapors. The shit was hitting the fan around 7PM when the kitchen delivered an inhumanly intense plate of Pasta from Hell to a smiley man in a red-pepper covered shirt: he had a few bites and became completely white with red splotches covering his face and neck, and then dashed to the bathroom where he stayed for forty five minutes. The kitchen kicked everybody’s ass tonight.
Last night it was more the other way around. Customers were complaining in a surly manner that the food wasn’t even hot at all and finishing whole plates of five and six bomb dishes and licking them clean, asking for more. The stage is set now for the third and final Hell Night, for a final showdown between Eric ‘EZ’ Gorborski (sp?) and his band of pirates versus the public at large. The Core Meltdown, as it is known.
In other restaurant news, Beautys pizza just got a sweet review written up in the Boston Phoenix. The man pictured below introduced himself to my roommates and me as “George” but now the truth comes out. The photo is called, “Jorge with our Ultimate Garden!” The truth is all there is:
