The manager was called Tommy Briggs. He was from Barnsley, not Mexico. He was in his mid-thirties, six foot tall, athletic and chunky, with long dark hair that he usually wore in a ponytail. Every day he wore a freshly laundered and ironed white shirt, always tight-fitting and always with the sleeves rolled halfway up his hairy forearms. His shoes had a decent heel on them and his jeans more often than not had a hint of a flare. He was one of those men that spoke very loudly when making small talk in an attempt to appear confident and amusing. ‘ALRIGHT, GEOFF! HOW YOU DOING, YOU DAFT BASTARD?’ is how he would greet a person called Geoff. ‘ALRIGHT, CAROL! CHEER UP, IT MIGHT NOT ACTUALLY HAPPEN’ is how he would greet any lady, whether or not they had any hint of sadness on their face.

I quite liked him. He gave me the job and he never shouted at me like he did with the other members of staff and some of the customers. He could be brutal. I remember one evening a couple complained about their burrito being too spicy. They were a quiet, mousy couple with little to say to each other apart from to share complaints about the service and the surroundings. They asked to see the manager.

‘HI, I’M TOMMY, THE MANAGER. I HEAR YOU’RE NOT HAPPY WITH YOUR FOOD, GUYS. WHAT SEEMS TO BE THE PROBLEM?’

The male mouse did the talking:

‘It’s the burrito. It’s far too spicy. There’s no mention on the menu that it’s basically a chemical weapon that destroys your tongue and throat.’

‘THAT, SIR, IS BECAUSE IT ISN’T. IT’S A MILDLY SPICED SALSA THAT IS SERVED WITH NEARLY EVERY DISH ON THE MENU AND I HAVE NEVER RECEIVED A SINGLE COMPLAINT.’

‘Well, that’s as may be, but I would like to swap it for something else please.’

Tommy turned his attention to Mrs Mouse.

‘WHAT DO YOU THINK, LOVE? YOU SEEM TO BE TUCKING IN LIKE A PIG IN A CHEESECAKE FACTORY.’

The restaurant was by now mostly silent.

‘How dare you speak to my partner like that?’ blurted Mr Mouse.

‘BECAUSE THIS IS MY HOUSE AND I’LL SAY WHATEVER I WANT TO DEFEND MY CHEF AND MY REPUTATION.’

‘You won’t have a reputation to maintain if you speak to your customers like this.’

‘THAT DEPENDS ON WHAT SORT OF REPUTATION I AM TRYING TO ESTABLISH.’

‘Not a very good one would be my guess,’ offered Mr Mouse.

‘WHAT ABOUT YOUR RELATIONSHIP? IS THAT A GOOD ONE? OR IS SHE A LITTLE BIT TOO SPICY FOR YOU? WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEND HER BACK AND SWAP HER FOR SOMETHING ELSE?’

‘Come on, love, we are leaving.’

Mr Mouse made to get out of his seat, but Tommy pushed him back down again: