They should be just what they sound like; set, immovable, intractable and not to be trifled with and avoiding, at all costs, the possibility of lowering your standards.
I used to joke to my golf buddies that as much mistrust I have of the medical profession (business), I would still rather have a doctor do surgery on me than my golf buddies.
Now, after several misdiagnoses and more than one botched surgery, I don’t know.
They can’t do much worse, quite honestly.
So I am hoping that this next round of antibiotics clears up my infection and allows me to resume some semblance of a “normal” (normal for me) life with at least some painless mobility.
That would be super.
My professional career included stints in demanding arenas such as high-end French dining as opposed to the wild, results-driven theater that was transacting stocks and other investment vehicles for a Wall Street firm in the eighties.
As a chef, my standards were exact and untouchable.
If you did not meet them, you would have a very short career with me. If you met them, I would hire you. If you exceeded them, you were in the rarified air of being a candidate for advancement in a formal apprenticeship.
Upon completion of your two and a half year apprenticeship, you would emerge as a certified Sous Chef. Of the four people I tutored, three of them were hired by various hotels, restaurants and resorts to be Executive Chefs. After being hired, they still had to complete their training by working expertly every kitchen station while being responsible of the entire cook line when the busy hours hit. Once they completed Sous Chef training, they could work on becoming a C.E.C.
I spent much of the time in front of the line with the food expediter and not once in two years did he make a plating mistake.
I took good care of him with little bonuses here and there and of course, cold ones after work.
He succeeded with me because he knew my standards.
Sell-outs.
Another word for someone, anyone, who compromises their standards for any reason whatsoever.
I admit to taking jobs that I knew were short term stops for me, with the owners and my prospective business partners thinking I might be more of a long-term player.
I have written of a family pancake restaurant chain that I walked out on with a full house, a full line of tickets hanging, and an asshole assistant manager losing their shit as I bid the crowd of people still waiting to be seated a good night.
This was a food service operation doing millions a year located on the world-famous Las Vegas Strip just in front of the world-famous Aladdin Hotel and Casino.
One word: rats.
I actually moved DOWN the culinary ladder in the summer I met my soulmate Karen.
I was the Executive Chef of the busiest restaurant on the entire California coast from San Francisco to San Clemente.
Their previous Executive Chef had just been fired because he got caught in a domestic thing and suddenly resigned. Since they were headed into the busiest part of tourist season to Santa Barbara, the owner desperately gave me a huge salary which I greedily accepted.
Everyone in the restaurant’s standards, both front and back of the house, changed that day.
Everyone’s except mine.
Stay well.
