Shit

Had to fire a guy yesterday.

Yeah, I know. Two days before Christmas. Didn't wanta do it—I fucking hated doing it—but I had to. He was a terrible employee. He forced my hand, and it was really the only thing I could do.

Remember in Lonesome Dove, Augustus told the Man-Burner he was the sort it was a "pleasure to hang."

There have, occasionally, been a few that it's been a pleasure to fire. An idiot teenager at the Auburn, WA, Godfather's Pizza comes to mind. I had assumed control of that bloated, corrupt, out-of-control restaurant just a day or two previous. I was in the kitchen, watching her cut a pizza with a pizza knife that hadn't been cleaned since Clinton's first term. She said that she'd prefer I not stand there. I asked her to repeat what she said. She did. I told her she was fired. She said I couldn't fire her (still don't get that one), and I said, Lady, get the hell out of my restaurant before I have a cop drag you out. She pitched a hell of a fit, which was fun, and ended with the Auburn Police escorting her off the premises, and warning her about criminal trespass. So doing, she provided an object lesson for the staff that saved me weeks of time. Must say, didn't mind firing her too awfully much.

Most of the time, though, it's perfectly awful. Like killing someone, in a way, and it takes a hell of a lot out of me. (Doesn't do them a hell of a lot of good either, I realize).

If you're gonna be successful running a business, though, you must have standards. Certain types of personalities are poison. Destructive, to everything you're trying to do. Sometimes—most times, I expect—you even like em, personally. Isn't that fucking awful???

Shit.