Chef pounded on the back door of the kitchen he ran before sent to ‘nam, utterly exhausted with his newfound fear of tigers and traumatic experiences. A cacophony of “heyyyyy!”’s filled his ears as the door flung open, greeted with the greasy hands of his cooking crew around his back in a hug. “aye, lemme get f’ckin inside? Can’t catch’a break.” Chef grumbled, peeling the greasy hands off of the uniform he wore in ‘nam.