I was once a waitress at a greasy spoon. This new cook came in, all in whites, with the big jiffy-Pope hat, to interview for this cruddy job. He got it. Later that night he was telling us all that he always wears whites "because I am fucking professional". He worked that phrase into everything, but he kinda mashed it, "I'm a fucka proffesnll".

Day two this guys stinks like vodka and he is flubbing around in the kitchen like he has no clue about food preparation. I told the boss the "fucking professional" was drunk and that he could not do his job and I was told "I don't care what this guy does on his own time".

Late that night I went into this little back room to get supplies and I found half a bottle of vodka stashed behind the bread. I went to show the boss, who was clearly upset but did not want to address it since we were slammed and this dude was the only cook.

Then right in the middle of the bar rush, that time of the night when the place was jam packed with drunken magic and pocket change, one of the waitresses comes running out of the kitchen screaming, "The cook chopped off his finger and blood went into the condiment tubs!!" Out comes the bloody professional, his whites all thrashed to hell. Every customer got up and left. We got to go home too. It was a sudden holiday.