Sometimes the high energy goes wrong. The kitchen battle I got caught in took place in New Orleans. I was at a Denny's working on an operations manual for their regional kitchens. There was never a dull moment. The cook we'd been working with for weeks was stabbed to death in a poker game the night before. It turned out he was heavily involved with two of the women working in the restaurant; they discovered his murder and his two-timing on the same morning and went berserk. Our recipe that day was one part grief, two parts shock and ten parts jealousy. The finished product was a disaster.
I crawled out from under the table; the photographer retrieved his battle-torn equipment-broken lights, broken camera, pranged tripods - everything was wrecked. I left the restaurant, checked out of my hotel and fled the scene of the crime, returning reluctantly after a month or so when things had cooled off.