Back in ‘87 I thought I was the coolest thing in town because I worked at Bennigan’s. You heard me. To this day, Benningan’s birthday song is the only song I’ll sing out loud.
The particular Bennigan’s I worked at on HWY 35 in Eatontown, NJ, had a unique claim to fame: it was the worst Bennigan’s in the country. While “worst” is an entirely subjective term, you can just fill in whatever category you’d like, and we were the worst at it—cook times, retention, customer satisfaction scores, etc.
By way of example, I’ll never forget the night the kitchen threw out all the tickets. As in mid-dinner service, all of the orders the servers had entered were thrown out because the kitchen was behind. The fact that someone thought throwing orders out and having a do-over mid-shift is a good indicator of why we were the worst. (FYI, that’s not a good way to run a restaurant.)
I’ll also never forget Francois. Francois was probably 45-55 years old (when you’re 17, everyone above 35 can range from 40-80), Haitian, and smiled as big as the number of calories in a Monte Cristo.
No matter what came his way, no matter how many dishes, no matter what sort of chaos happened in that kitchen, Francois never stopped smiling. He also never stopped repeating his go-to phrase.
His English was limited, but he memorized his mantra:
“I don’t #$@&ing care!”
(The missing word rhymes with “ducking” and starts with an “f.”)
“I’m sorry to pile up more dishes!”
“I don’t #$@&ing care!”
I’m sorry that I just dropped a full bottle of ketchup on the floor, and it shattered everywhere, and I have to run out to deal with angry people, so can you clean it up?”
“I don’t #$@&ing care!”
“I don’t #$@&ing care” was, in my memory at least, all Francois would say. About everything. All the time.
He repeated that phrase through his electrifying smile and with the tone of joy and freedom and lightness of someone who…well…didn’t care!
Francois probably worked harder than anyone. Francois was steady. His mantra and smile became a calming force in that chaos. His presence and that phrase were perspective-giving.
Yesterday, on my beach walk, in an attempt to clear my head, I ran into a friend. She brought up the election. I said, “I voted yesterday,” because that’s the part I can control. Then she went on, and on, and on about various outcomes and this and that, and in my head, I Francois-ed her.
I don’t #$@&ing care!
At that moment, I made “Francois-ed” into a verb.
As in, I don’t care. I give this no energy. I don’t care to hear about what you’re talking about when it comes to the election because I don’t care. I hadn’t heard of half of the nonsense information she was talking about because I don’t care. I did what I could do. I did what was in my control. The rest? Francois-ed it.
What can you Francois? (You can leave out the descriptor if you wish.)
I’d argue that so much of what’s on our minds is stuff we think we need to care about. So much of what people get fired up about, rant about, spend energy on…have we ever paused and stopped and thought, wait, do I REALLY need to care about this? Or can we Francois it?
Now, I’m not suggesting that we Francois it all…we need to latch on to something; we need to care about some things.
What I’ve realized, as of late, is that I’ve let a lot of my brain space and mental energy get consumed and overrun by things I can Francois.
Perhaps he came to mind yesterday because of all of the current uncertainty. Let’s face it, uncertainty is here to stay.
If we care about all of it, if we let all of it take over, if we give it space and energy and time, we’ll end up exhausted and unable to care about the things that are actually worth caring about.
Those things are individual. You get to decide.
I’d bet if you did a quick assessment, you’d find you can Francois a lot of what is on your mind.
It hit me SO HARD yesterday when I was talking to my friend.
I Francois-ed it.
I felt a release.
And I continued my walk on the beach with my head a bit more clear.
