A cooking storm and desperation thereof

Yesterday, I was having a discussion with a person regarding hiring in the culinary industry. He started telling me about how skills were definitely on the slide. I listened. A very old incident flashed by. 1989. It is 12 noon in The Astor. I have barged into the kitchen. There are 180 packets of Chinese food to be delivered to a nearby consulate. The cook has gone missing. He is in a gate meeting at a nearby location where the ruling party has called for workers to come and sit and do dharna. I wish I knew what a ruling party protests against. Probably they don't like their own work. Whatever. The cook's gone. That's nutshell. The packets have to be delivered at 1.00 pm. There's no way that can happen if someone is not going to start cooking now. Everyone is lounging. Lots of staff. They are happy to look at my face and grin like baboons. I panic. The only way I can do the delivery is by starting to cook myself, I think. I am a Food service executive. I am not supposed to be cooking. The union won't allow me. I wear an apron. I pull out a Chinese chopper. I start cutting vegetables that are loaded onto the counter. I don't do such things daily and so my speed is not good. So, interested people collect and start laughing at my plight. They are a part of the union. They won't work in someone else's department. I am not a part of the union. Also, I am a newbie. It's like ragging, if you get the picture. The chopping board is being pummelled by my angry chops with the knife. The spring onion is done. The beans is being stringed. Then I chop them at my best pace. The carrots have to be cut into flowered slices. That takes some doing. But I am angry and game. It goes on. Minutes tick by. The mounds of vegetables collect. I haven't started with the chicken. I know the cook keeps his boneless stash somewhere. I don't know where. The staff won't help. They are looking on and chewing on toothpicks, peanuts and other such stuff. To keep themselves from laughing at me. Then, the union leader arrives. No, not the cook. He's a follower. The leader. He actually works in the kitchen as a kitchen supervisor. Someone who gets orders done. This was his work to get the order done. He has been busy in party work somewhere. He cannot be thrown out of the job as the establishment survives because he is around to handle the union and party matters. He looks at me. Laughs. And comes to where I am working. Then, he clicks his finger. A tandoor worker arrives. He motions him to take my place. He takes my place. He motions to another guy and he runs to get the boneless chicken stashed somewhere. He thunders at a third guy who's there and he runs to get par boiled rice and noodles. All kept at appropriate places. I move aside. In no time, the workers have started finishing what I had started solo. The packets emerge and the tossed rice and noodles are being packed in silver foil. I try to help in the packing as my adrenaline is still high and I am looking at my watch to see if we are on time. He motions me away. He tells me to wait in a corner. Not to move. The packets are done. It is 12.55 pm. The Chinese cook comes in then. The union leader who's quiet till then, walk across to the cook and gives a whack on his head. "Didn't you know you had a order to give?" The cook, who is about 37 years of age takes his tongue out in sheepish dismay. The union leader asks me to get it all loaded in the delivery car with the service boys. As he passes me, he pats me on the shoulder. For quite a while, maybe for my whole tenure that act of foolishness and that pat stood me in good stead with the people in there. By the way, I would never have completed the order in time. I was just desperately trying. Sometimes that works too, in rallying people to the cause.