Deja vu. Same shit, different day.

Is this what the food service industry has become? Or is it just this one place? Out of all the different restaurants I’ve worked at, this is the only one that runs this way. I just don’t get it.

We are constantly running out of food, and not miniscule items. There is always at least one item not ready when the dinner service begins, and not something minor. Last night was spitfire roasted chicken, one of our most popular dishes. The wait staff is furious, and rightfully so, because they have to deny the customers what they want. And guess who is always right in front of them when they get the news, that’s right, me. The guy who just walked in the door and stepped on line.

When I walked in yesterday, both of the prep cooks were cleaning all the while there was a huge list of items that still needed to be made up for the night. I asked them why there’s still such a huge list with ten minutes to go until supper service starts, and they both defend their selves by saying the kitchen manager gave them a cleaning list to do, so they want to make sure they finish that first so they don’t have to stay late. They tell me that I and the other cook (we’re two down for the evening) can prep while we’re cooking as they didn’t think it would be a busy night. How the fuck would they know!? They are rarely ever there past five o’clock!

I was so close to leaving. Why do I need this added stress? Why should I care when apparently no one else does? It’s just infuriating sometimes. There is literally no possible way I can touch even a shred of prep because the line is destroyed from lunch service still. Shit everywhere. Absolutely disgusting. Every cooler depleted. Every ingredient low and nothing was prepped. So I’m chopping and wrapping things on the fly, just enough to get through tonight’s service, hopefully. Restocking frantically and wiping up slop everywhere. These two meat heads finish up and clock out for the day. Truly despicable.

And then it happens; a server calls out that the party of thirty-five is here. WHAT!? No one even bothered to tell me. And to make things even worse, my coworker isn’t even scheduled in for another half hour. I am all alone with the line nowhere near ready for regular service, let alone a party of thirty-five on top of that.

What the fuck is wrong with all of these people? I’m mean seriously? I am speechless, and that back door, my path to glorious freedom and sweet revenge, is only fifteen feet away. My mind is shifting with thoughts of just leaving and letting these complete morons figure out how they will get through the night, but I don’t. Why not? I honestly am still asking myself that question.

I tell all of the servers that I will only be working on the party. Any orders that come in at the same time or afterwards will have to wait until I’m done. They are appalled. I told them what was up and they all freak out. They can’t believe I’m the only one here too. At least I have their support. Two minutes later, one of the many front end managers comes back.

She asks me where everyone else is. I explain to her the situation from my point of view. She becomes enraged and tells me that she’ll grab an apron and help me cook until my coworker arrives. That’s just fucking great! I mean, I honestly do appreciate the help but most of the time it’s easier to do it by myself if the other person really has no business being on the line. It’s like trying to train a new person all the while doing everything anyways.

She does quite well and only shouts out minimal questions from time to time. She also gets a busser and the expediter on prep and makes the servers do their own setups and traying. I’m really glad she stepped up and I thank her graciously for the help. She got the kitchen back in functioning order with her workers from the front. A positive point of this fiasco is that I now found some respect for ONE of the front of the house managers. She deserves it from me from now on. The other six can go fuck themselves still.

The other cook arrives and we continue to get crushed most of the night, one step behind the whole way. The orders drop completely and there are zero open. I tell him, “Fuck it, let’s both go out to smoke.”, and we leave the line deserted. We bitch to each other robustly, which actually puts us in a better mood. He tells me that he is looking for other work because he can’t stand how the kitchen is run, plus with the mandatory hour cuts, we both float around twenty to twenty-five hours per week. You’re preaching to the choir, brother. He said he complained to the kitchen manager and was told by said manager, “I need my hours too.”

So the KM gets his forty, ten of which are actually cooking, and the rest of us get the meager leftover labor. Next week, for some reason, I truly believe there will be many more hours freed up with two more of us leaving and never looking back. I can feel it. That will leave him with three actual cooks and one prep person and no applications to hire, all the while marching into a busy summer. They deserve it. I don’t think I’m going to make it, especially if the other guy goes. But we’ll see.

To top off another fine evening, I notice a note taped on one of the broiler coolers. I take it off and read it. It’s another cleaning list for me and the other cook that MUST be completed before we leave for the evening. I show it to him and he looks like he’s going to explode. It looks like a bomb went off in the kitchen and we are mentally exhausted. I take the note, rub it against my balls, crumple it up, and spike it like a football onto the ground. “Yeah we’ll get right on that asshole”, I mutter. The other cook’s rage turns in to maniacal laughter and that in turn makes me chuckle with glee. We’re almost done for the night, cooking wise, and at least we can take some small joy in spiting the KM. We both stay late to clean up and close.

I’m still mad about last night so I’ll be going in pissed off and expecting the worse today. I wonder what new and exciting disaster will occur tonight. I’m sure you’ll get to read about it within a day or two. Until then, I will keep plugging away in another day in the life of a line cook.