He sat down on his wide front porch with a notepad. “However, I leave this to needs to have struggled like me to appreciate it truly. How can I find out? Should I look at the managers and chefs’ resumes?” That seems so impersonal, Mr. Santiago mused out loud.
But inspiration hit, and he devised a plan. He dressed in his oldest attire and bought a shabby second-hand cane. He grew out his beard before heading out to visit his restaurants.
“Sir, I’m sorry, you can’t come in here,” the manager of the Mockingbird said. And when Mr. Santiago tried to insist, she called the security guards. “Okay, you’re not getting anything,” he thought, and headed towards his other restaurant called Lure.
“Desert oils, go away old man, homeless people are not allowed in this Michelin star place. You can search the garbage after we close for leftovers,” the hostess sneered down his nose at him. “Yikes, I don’t have the best employees in the world,” he noted to himself as he walked away. But then again, Mr. Santiago had not been in charge of hiring in decades. He had a management firm that handled all that stuff.
