It's 95 degrees. You can't really understand the implications of that for a restaurant owner unless you have worked in a restaurant. While the front of the house is a cool 70, the kitchen is well over 100 degrees. The air conditioner is sweating so much that the rug in the downstairs dining room is soaked. At any moment one of my ten or so coolers will randomly ice up and stop running. I'm buying Gatorade by the case so none of my kitchen staff black out on top of the charbroiler.
And this is the text I received from my general manager at the bar, who may or may not be drunk right now, in the middle of trivia night, with a bar full of people: " You have no idea what these people are like. I mean No Idea. And I mean No idea. I am not working tomorrow".
He is so fucking lucky that tomorrow is his birthday.