I have been toying with the idea gathering my profession kitchen stories into a memoir. Memoirs of a kitchen slave will be a series of my whining and venting of kitchen life. It is not going to be 100% whining and venting, but probably more than 50% of it will be. Hey…it’s the service industry. It comes with the territory to be pissy sometimes. I am not sure if readers will be put off or intrigued with this series. I wouldn’t be surprised if it actually drove some people away. I can understand that because not everyone wants to listen to someone whine. But the whiny kitchen stories are not going to be the main focus of my blog. As you may have noticed, I already have written some kitchen stories posts that I would like to incorporate into the collection. Let me know what you guys think.
I’d like to say that I was celebrating Easter on the inside anyway all while cursing at the “special request” orders, dealing with that nerve wracking voice of the busser I despise, getting knife cuts while slaving away, and wishing so badly that I was anywhere but in the kitchen hustling my ass to feed the people that I could care less about, all just to make a measly thankless wage.
My misery began as soon as I woke up Easter morning. I woke up cursing the fact that while everyone else got to go out and celebrate, I was going to be stuck in my little confined kitchen, firing orders so that other people can have a good experience with good food while I go through torture. I was just sooooo not looking forward to it.
I had to breathe and calm myself down. I turned up the music a little louder. Music helps ease the mind. I continued taking deep breaths. My panic mode started to subside as I forced myself to think of happy thoughts….puppies, yummy food, days off…..serenity….I was slowly calming down.
I started preparing everything I needed to prepare, my usual set up PLUS some additional items for the Easter menu. OMG the stressful anxiety got the best of me that night that I even cut myself twice …not once but TWICE, and both cuts were on my left middle finger (a finger that I wanted to give everyone that night haha)! And I never cut myself (not since that biggest cut of my life that I had some years ago). With the first cut, the blade of my chef’s knife slipped across the nail of my middle finger, chipping a big chunk off. No big deal. It’s not like I just got my nails done or anything. We don’t have the luxury of having that kind of option.
Oh boy….it was not good. I started taking deep breaths again. I had to get through the night, whether it meant going through it in complete misery or at least trying to get through it with a slightly more cheerful attitude. The agony was starting to plateau. I was starting to calm down a little as my focus started gearing towards getting everything ready. But I was still miserable. Everyone was just getting on my nerves. And it’s not like I was even behgopa or on my period either lol. I was just having one of those days of feeling miserable because I felt sorry for myself. I think the best word to describe the misery I was feeling is TRAPPED. I felt extremely and utterly trapped. All I could think of was wishing an escape.
As the night went on, service only got busier. I had no time to munch (as hunger lurked its ugly head around the peak of dinner time), no time to even spare a second to use the restroom…I had to hold my starvation until it was all over. And we all know what hunger does to me. I was already feeling miserable, but add hunger to all that…OMG! Not a pleasant picture. But somehow, I managed to power through it. And fortunately, we got to eat something filling that evening, pork chops with sides.
I have my moments of wanting to break down and have freak attacks, but I get over them. I’ve noticed that breaking down moments like this is not that uncommon in my industry. And who can blame us? We get stressed out, we freak out, let it out, and then we eventually calm down and get over it. Looking back, I think this has got to be my worst break down moment. During that evening, I almost even had the urge to just say “fuck this” and walk out. I was really really tempted to.
In an ideal situation, if I could have it my way, I would probably still keep a kitchen job, but limit my time while spending more time pursuing other interests. I am going to arrange that kind of schedule in the near future. I don’t work long endless hours in the kitchen as I once did in the past. But it is still enough to drive me insane sometimes.
I could spend the entire day at the Huntington Library and still not see everything, but would have a blast trying. The one thing that I don’t care for is that no photography is allowed inside. I so wanted to take shots of some of the beautiful artwork and the collection of books. It is impressive. But oh well, all the more reason to snap away to your heart’s content in the gardens and the rest of the outdoor scenery