Psyco-wise, that would have been my second chef I worked under. I saw a radio go flying across the kitchen (he didn't like the song being played) as one example. The turning point for me was when I was trying to help him get a sheet tray out of a stack rack. He proceeded to smack the tray (which was at about neck level for me) and send it flying at me. I ducked just in time to see it go over the top of me and land on the floor some feet back. When I looked at him with the WTF look, all he shouted at me was something to the effect of "Don't ever help me again". I quit a week later. |