Gemotions

The head chef, Kenji, barely touched his meticulously prepared plate of sushi. Usually he ate everything, savoring the subtle nuances of his own creations. Now, his stomach churned. The critic’s brutal assessment of his sourcing choices felt like a personal attack.

He avoided eye contact with his sous chefs as they worked the line. Every dropped chopstick, every uneven slice, seemed to amplify his sense of inadequacy. He felt a throbbing pulse in his temple. The restaurant buzzed with polite chatter, but it sounded like accusations to Kenji.

After service, he locked himself in the equipment closet. The smell of clean, unused metal did nothing to soothe the turmoil. He was a disaster.