It was easy to tell there hadn't been much to complain about today, because the walk-in fridge was open. And by open, I mean wide open, which it had been for a while.
There was only one person who would do that because every other person working in this kitchen wouldn't. More to the point they had been told, until he was blue in the face, that they couldn’t. They wouldn’t. Especially on a hot day.
I knew what was coming next. And I was right. It happens at the times when it should be calm and harmonious. The times when we are just getting on with it. It was the butter box first, launched through the doorway like there had been a silent explosion on the shelf where it had rested. It had been full you see, when it was delivered but we have slowly been emptying it when we needed some. Now it contained only a few blocks but still occupied the same amount of space as if it were untouched.
The chain reaction had started and was now in full swing, with offending items hurtling out of the fridge, ricocheting from anything they met, like bullets, landing over near the veg sink. Settling together, waiting for the last one to arrive, bringing silence for a short time.
If it was a communal item, like the butter, and he couldn't finger anyone for it, the all-purpose bollocking for the general populace would cover it. It would be administered wide eyed and enthusiastically to everyone in the kitchen as he stood in the doorway, like he was delivering yet another sermon to the masses for their benefit. Eye contact with him was unnecessary, he knew the message was getting to the intended recipients.
When he did make eye contact, that was it. You were beckoned, to your section of the fridge so you could have a look at your latest crime. You would be given the opportunity to have it pointed out to you, so you could learn what you did wrong, but mainly have it explained why you shouldn't do it again. There was no raised voice at this point though, that wasn't what he did. He didn't need to. Because this was his domain and he got off on it.
The time spent in the fridge served a purpose. He needed it. This wasn't anger, this was frustration. His standards weren't being met and this exercise took him back to a place he needed to be and in a state of mind he needed to occupy. He was there again, adrenaline pumping, feeling better, feeling like he needed to.
It was a couple of hours until evening service and all was quiet on the western front. That was the problem, he had time to think and his mind didn't like it. It wandered and he couldn't help but think about the outside world where it was different. Not like in here where he had control. Purpose. Importance. In here he was the light. He wasn't as good out there. He struggled out there. And he didn't like to think about it. These exercises helped him forget.
He wasn't a bad person. Time was his enemy. He noticed it in the quiet spells. He needed adrenaline to function at his best. This was when time was just slip, slip, slipping away and his hair was on fire. If it wasn’t there, he created it and he had become addicted.