Wilford Warfstache (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cottoncandypink) wrote2018-05-24 04:23 pm
cottoncandypink) wrote2018-05-24 04:23 pm
Shit, what rock had he been living under?
200 menus. 200 menus for a place that seated 135. Having extra menus to replace damaged ones, or to hand out to people while they were waiting at the bar was a logical, practical thing to do. It also meant having to check over 200 menus for printing errors and typos. Before long, nothing even looked like words anymore. He was glad he’d insisted on the menu being entirely in English, rather than ‘adding flair’ by also printing the Hangul next to the name, because it could have all been describing obscene sexual acts and he wouldn’t have noticed. And if one was accurate, they all should have been, but just in case he checked every single one of them.
And they were all good. No problems with any of them. He’d almost wished there had been, just to have given him a reason to have done it. He still wasn’t happy with the name on the top of the menus, but it was sure as fuck better than Thandie’s.
The next step was worse though. New hires to replace the staff that had chosen to walk. The good news was there was no shortage of applicants, both for front of house and back of house. The bad news was Wilford and Paul were up to their necks in applications. Since the back of house was Paul’s domain, Wilford let him handle those applicants while he re-staffed the front, and found a new general manager to cover the place when Wilford wasn’t there. Meanwhile, Kate was busy looking for a couple extra bar tenders so she wasn’t stuck doing everything on her own. Both home and his day job were an hour away with good traffic, leaving him with no delusions of being able to manage the place. Luckily, this was Los Santos. There was no shortage of big names moving in and moving out, shuffling staff around with them. Wilford wasn’t going to trust any old schmuck who walked in with a fake work history for that job. He called a few people, got referred to a few more people, and after about two hours of feeling around had a decent shortlist of hosts and managers looking for new work.
“What happened to close a Gordon Ramsay restaurant?” Wilford asked.
Devon rolled his eyes. “He put it in a hotel. Someone flooded the foundation and turned it to quicksand.”
“Oh, right. I heard about that.” It was hard to miss someone sinking a high-rise hotel in the middle of Vespucci. It had almost been funny enough to convince Wilford to cover it. Almost. Not quite.
Out of seven interviews, Wilford decided he liked Devon best. And to put him to work, Devon got to help shift through the countless applications for new waitstaff. If they weren’t high school or college kids, they were only looking for the opportunity to get noticed by celebrities. Anyone who gawked or mentioned headshots got dismissed on the spot.
“Who’s Buster?” one of them asked. “Is that you?” Either he thought he was being cute, or he lived under a rock.
“Buster’s my dog,” Wilford said flatly.
“Oh…”
He would have loved to throw this all onto Devon, and just be done with it, but he didn’t know Devon well enough to trust him with this on his own. Even if he did seem to have a good idea of who to hire and who to pass. He could do that on his own later. Until then, it was a team effort. But it got done. They had the bare minimum number of staff to re-open, just as soon as the health inspector came in and had their say. Wilford wasn’t worried about that at all. It was the lowest-priority, because he’d already gone through the entire place to make sure everything was clean and working and up to his own standards. That was it.
That should have been it. Of course, it was only a matter of time before someone found out about the place, and gossip started to fly. He wasn’t expecting the gossip mill to get him a meeting with some producer he’d never heard of. The weird part was that he came to Wilford.
“I know you’re a busy guy,” he said, almost making it sound like an apology. “Even busier now, I hear.”
“About to get a whole lot less busy next month,” Wilford said, waiting for Mr Hot Shot to get to the point.
“Oh?” That caught him off guard. Damn. Wilford could already feel the tangent. “What’s happening next month?” He seemed concerned. Like this would undo his entire point in coming to see Wilford at the studio.
“Nothing I want in the papers yet,” he said. It wasn’t what Daniel or David, or whatever the hell he was called was expecting to hear, which just derailed him further.
“Uh. Well. Okay. You’re not selling already, I hope?” he asked.
Oh. Oh no. So that’s where this was going. “No,” Wilford said.
“Good! Good. We’ve got a new show in pre-pro, and I want you in an episode. Celebrity Chef. A lot of people in Vinewood are investing in restaurants lately. It’s the new trend. So we’ve got Damien Welsh going on a tour of all the hot new places in town.”
“I’m not a chef,” Wilford pointed out. He was barely a celebrity, but he wasn’t going to argue that point.
“It’s a pun. We know that.”
Wilford rolled his eyes. Daniel-David really wanted his attention.
“How long?” he asked.
“Two or three days with each place. Twenty two episodes. Slated to start production in September for a winter premiere.” Daniel-David seemed confident. Wilford wasn’t so sure.
“Get me the pilot,” he said. “Inbox it to me, or whatever.”
Daniel-David shook his head. “Pilot? What year are you in? Nobody does pilots anymore. Did you do a pilot?”
Wilford realised that he hadn’t. “No, but news is different.” Right? Shit, what rock had he been living under?
“Pilots waste time. We’re competing against Homebox now. You make a bunch of shows and let the ratings do the talking.” Daniel-David seemed really confident. Wilford was even less so.
“Winter premiere?” Wilford asked. He thought about it. Winter would be far enough out that he should have all of his upcoming complications out of the way. “I’m about to take a lot of time off from everything. Slate me for December and we’ll talk.”
Daniel-David nodded. “December. Great. We’ll be in touch.”
Wilford hoped not. He hoped the show would bomb before they had the chance to film.
And they were all good. No problems with any of them. He’d almost wished there had been, just to have given him a reason to have done it. He still wasn’t happy with the name on the top of the menus, but it was sure as fuck better than Thandie’s.
The next step was worse though. New hires to replace the staff that had chosen to walk. The good news was there was no shortage of applicants, both for front of house and back of house. The bad news was Wilford and Paul were up to their necks in applications. Since the back of house was Paul’s domain, Wilford let him handle those applicants while he re-staffed the front, and found a new general manager to cover the place when Wilford wasn’t there. Meanwhile, Kate was busy looking for a couple extra bar tenders so she wasn’t stuck doing everything on her own. Both home and his day job were an hour away with good traffic, leaving him with no delusions of being able to manage the place. Luckily, this was Los Santos. There was no shortage of big names moving in and moving out, shuffling staff around with them. Wilford wasn’t going to trust any old schmuck who walked in with a fake work history for that job. He called a few people, got referred to a few more people, and after about two hours of feeling around had a decent shortlist of hosts and managers looking for new work.
“What happened to close a Gordon Ramsay restaurant?” Wilford asked.
Devon rolled his eyes. “He put it in a hotel. Someone flooded the foundation and turned it to quicksand.”
“Oh, right. I heard about that.” It was hard to miss someone sinking a high-rise hotel in the middle of Vespucci. It had almost been funny enough to convince Wilford to cover it. Almost. Not quite.
Out of seven interviews, Wilford decided he liked Devon best. And to put him to work, Devon got to help shift through the countless applications for new waitstaff. If they weren’t high school or college kids, they were only looking for the opportunity to get noticed by celebrities. Anyone who gawked or mentioned headshots got dismissed on the spot.
“Who’s Buster?” one of them asked. “Is that you?” Either he thought he was being cute, or he lived under a rock.
“Buster’s my dog,” Wilford said flatly.
“Oh…”
He would have loved to throw this all onto Devon, and just be done with it, but he didn’t know Devon well enough to trust him with this on his own. Even if he did seem to have a good idea of who to hire and who to pass. He could do that on his own later. Until then, it was a team effort. But it got done. They had the bare minimum number of staff to re-open, just as soon as the health inspector came in and had their say. Wilford wasn’t worried about that at all. It was the lowest-priority, because he’d already gone through the entire place to make sure everything was clean and working and up to his own standards. That was it.
That should have been it. Of course, it was only a matter of time before someone found out about the place, and gossip started to fly. He wasn’t expecting the gossip mill to get him a meeting with some producer he’d never heard of. The weird part was that he came to Wilford.
“I know you’re a busy guy,” he said, almost making it sound like an apology. “Even busier now, I hear.”
“About to get a whole lot less busy next month,” Wilford said, waiting for Mr Hot Shot to get to the point.
“Oh?” That caught him off guard. Damn. Wilford could already feel the tangent. “What’s happening next month?” He seemed concerned. Like this would undo his entire point in coming to see Wilford at the studio.
“Nothing I want in the papers yet,” he said. It wasn’t what Daniel or David, or whatever the hell he was called was expecting to hear, which just derailed him further.
“Uh. Well. Okay. You’re not selling already, I hope?” he asked.
Oh. Oh no. So that’s where this was going. “No,” Wilford said.
“Good! Good. We’ve got a new show in pre-pro, and I want you in an episode. Celebrity Chef. A lot of people in Vinewood are investing in restaurants lately. It’s the new trend. So we’ve got Damien Welsh going on a tour of all the hot new places in town.”
“I’m not a chef,” Wilford pointed out. He was barely a celebrity, but he wasn’t going to argue that point.
“It’s a pun. We know that.”
Wilford rolled his eyes. Daniel-David really wanted his attention.
“How long?” he asked.
“Two or three days with each place. Twenty two episodes. Slated to start production in September for a winter premiere.” Daniel-David seemed confident. Wilford wasn’t so sure.
“Get me the pilot,” he said. “Inbox it to me, or whatever.”
Daniel-David shook his head. “Pilot? What year are you in? Nobody does pilots anymore. Did you do a pilot?”
Wilford realised that he hadn’t. “No, but news is different.” Right? Shit, what rock had he been living under?
“Pilots waste time. We’re competing against Homebox now. You make a bunch of shows and let the ratings do the talking.” Daniel-David seemed really confident. Wilford was even less so.
“Winter premiere?” Wilford asked. He thought about it. Winter would be far enough out that he should have all of his upcoming complications out of the way. “I’m about to take a lot of time off from everything. Slate me for December and we’ll talk.”
Daniel-David nodded. “December. Great. We’ll be in touch.”
Wilford hoped not. He hoped the show would bomb before they had the chance to film.