Snot omelets and rude managment.

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Update.

My personal computer refuses to boot. I am in the process of data recovery and building a new rig and will be back within a week or two. I don't feel comfortable posting to my blog otherwise. Thanks for understanding and I'll see you all soon!

Drama, where art thou?

Well week 3 is now completed for me as of this afternoon. I must say that this week was way worse in terms of labor and customer volume, though my attitude didn’t follow suit, minus my brush with death. It was even busier, especially the last two days, like that is even possible, but I didn’t hate every single second that I spent there. It has a lot to do with a guy I’m working with. He’s really lax with the rules when it comes to me and we joke around and laugh quite a bit. Don’t get me wrong, I still do have my moments that send me down the path of rage, but this dude can tell and instantly gets me rolling with some stupid anecdote or another.

Plus, they really are babying me there. They know I will not hesitate to tell them all to fuck off and march out on a whim’s notice. I have been perfectly frank with everyone and they know I just won’t put up with all the added bullshit that I witness other people succumbing to every day. I told them what will work for me and if it won’t work for them, let’s not waste each other’s time. Simple. And it seems to be working really well.

For instance, I was told I’d get a non-changing schedule. I was telling the assistant GM one day that I was really looking forward to having tomorrow off because I made plans and was leaving town. He wasn’t sure if I was kidding or not and told me to check the schedule. I told him I didn’t have to because the GM (let’s call him Roy) stated that my hours and days off were not interchangeable.

When I got time, I went back to check quick and sure as shit I didn’t have the next day off. When I came back all I said was, “I’m really not happy about this. You guys are already breaking our agreement.” I was kidding but he didn’t know that. Fuck it, I can wait another day and it really wasn’t any big deal to me. About thirty minutes later, Roy approached me and said, “I’m really sorry. I spaced this week but it won’t happen again. Nick (assistant GM, let’s call him that) said he would cover the morning shift so you can go ahead and take tomorrow off.”

I was really surprised because at any other place they would likely tell you to go fuck yourself, not in those terms but the same basic context, and to show up or don’t come back. It’s just that they are SO desperate for competent help right now that they actually have to honor our deal. I wasn’t an asshole about it or anything and just said, “Nah, that’s okay. I can leave Friday after work instead. I was just going for a day and everyone else will be there the whole weekend, so it’s no big deal.” And it wasn’t. But from that point forward I will guarantee you I have my set days off, unless they ask me first.

Another thing, and this is the best part, is that they always try super hard to get me out of the restaurant when my scheduled shift is over. When the clock hits 2 pm they tell me, “Okay, you can head out. Have a good day.” I always stay over to keep cooking, help clean and restock because I’m not a total dickhead. It’s just that I have that option to get the hell out of that soul sucking pit should I ever choose to or need to. Before, no matter who you were, minus management of course, you stayed and were God damn expected to until every single shred of work was completed. Sometimes you would need to stay 2-3 hours after your shift ended. It’s so awesome having the option to just bolt. I love it. So rather than thinking, “Oh my fucking Lord when will I ever get to leave” now it’s, “Shit, I can leave as soon as I feel like it!” So great.

One more cook quit and another has been sick. It’s the one that tried to kill me by giving me the tilapia flu, and get this; he’s out because of a respiratory illness. Talk about instant karma. Like I stated last post, I don’t hold any ill will towards him but at least he got to somewhat experience what it’s like not being able to breathe with no control over it. The dude who quit was a really cool guy but not the greatest cook. I really liked the short while I worked with him though and am glad to have known him.

I just can’t believe how bad this place is screwed in terms of cooks. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised because it truly sucks ass and maybe the corporate geniuses will finally have to figure out how to fix the shortage rather than just sit back, make stupid ass policies that don’t work worth shit, and actually have to pay their workers a decent wage. Like I’ve typed before, I’ve worked in several other fields, and this type of work is the only one that comes close to demanding, overloading rather, labor with a minimal wage. I’m glad it’s finally coming to light that this profession fucking sucks and you can’t treat people like this forever. Like I said, I don’t even get offered my guaranteed by law break, which is fine with me, though no one else does either. I don’t get off of my feet for even a second and barely have time to get a glass of water, let alone actually finish it before it’s warm. Yeah, I know, boohoo, poor me.

So anyways, Roy did also say I would be evaluated and have my wage adjusted accordingly after two weeks. Well today marked three so I made sure to tell him early this morning that I needed a quick minute or two with him before I left for the day. After all, he was only fifteen feet away, cooking on the other side. That’s also epic. The GM of a store is needed to do labor that is obviously beneath him because he can’t keep help. He gets to see firsthand the shit we dredge through each day and I’m quite sure it has adjusted his appreciation for what we do.

I sneak over to him on my way out and make it real fast. I say, “You said I would be re-evaluated after two weeks and it’s been three. We can make this fast, just tell me what you had in mind.” Nope. Can’t be that simple or easy, and he tells his partner he’s going to the office for a few minutes. We stroll back there, which wasn’t needed as far as I’m concerned. He asks me what I’m making now and guesses on a number. It’s wrong. I tell him, “No, no, no. That’s not correct. You said I’d be starting at $XX.XX per hour. He looks it up on the computer and well what do you know, he’s paying me less than we agreed upon.

I let out this big, “Ugh!” and he knows I’m not happy. He says he’ll call the regional manager and get it straightened out immediately. I ask if the adjustment will be reflected on my check and he says no but they will pay me in cash to compensate. He then whips out his phone and calls the regional manager. Holy shit this guy is efficient! After he leaves a message he asks me about my elevated wage.

I say, “I know I’m not as good as I was before just yet, but I also know I’m almost there. I think I’m doing really well considering my lapse and it’s only been three weeks.” He agrees. Now I know this isn’t common and they are in a real jam, and I do have a heart, so I meagerly ask for a free meal per day. He says that it’s not that simple with food and ponders for a bit. He then says, “How about fifty cents?” I visibly grimace and shake my head when he interrupts me saying, “Do you want more?” What? Did the commander of a corporate sweatshop just ask a subordinate if he wanted more? Wow, this is truly an amazing day, one for the record books for sure. I start laughing because what he said out loud was incredibly ludicrous. I shrugged as to say, “What do you think?”

I go on to state that I feel a higher wage is justifiable because I’m not long-term. I say, “I’m only here over the summer, if even that, so I don’t think it’s out of the question for a substantial increase because it’s not going to be a set wage, only temporary in the grand scheme.” He retorts that he’ll give me a one dollar per hour increase plus I get a free meal each shift I work. Well…what the heck is going on…all I wanted was the free meal initially. I would have been satisfied with that, but since you’re going to go above and beyond that, now at this point in our conversation, for some reason, hell yeah I’ll take it. I happily agree and thank him sincerely for the increase and perk.

So after three weeks of working here, I am currently making $4.00 more dollars per hour and I also get a free meal each and every shift I work; and I didn’t make a shitty wage at the last place either. I mean, I am truly miserable here currently and will remain so until I choose to leave, but it would be no different from my last restaurant except for the aforementioned upgrades. Plus, if I decide to stay longer than ninety days, I will receive a discounted health coverage package that includes not only medical, but dental and vision as well.

All in all, I’m very glad I made the decision to switch. It also gives me great satisfaction knowing those idiots are struggling every day without me. There is still and open interview advertisement running in our local newspaper, so I would confidently assume they still haven’t been able to secure any help. Ha-ha! Suck on that you dumb nerds. If you hadn’t been such dickholes I may still be there.

Next post I’m going to go into the whole prep cook versus being a line cook. Today, which was the busiest day I’ve seen here since I’ve been back, our prep cooks were bitching the whole day about how bad their jobs are and how much extra crap they have to do. I came in at 6 am sharp and got a quick smoke at 7:30 am, and that was pushing it. The KM told me to go now or just concede to the reality that I won’t be getting one at all. I took his offer and pounded one down, and thank God I took advantage of his kindness. We had full boards of tickets on both sides with absolutely no intermission whatsoever until I left. It was fucking crazy! Each board will hold approximately twenty tables per side, so forty tables of customers for seven hours straight. The table turnovers are perfected there for maximum volume and profit. If you get behind for even a few minutes with a full house and waiting lines, you can kiss your ass goodbye and are buried with basically no redemption possible. Yeah, so much fun with no pressure at all. =)

 Anyways, last time I worked here and I heard a prep cook bitch about something, I pulled him up on line with me and trained him as I would a common line cook applicant. I didn’t try to intimidate him or ride him extra hard; just a normal, “Here’s what it’s really like to cook up here” session. I let him go back into the prep area after only two hours and he NEVER complained again. Don’t get me wrong, prep can suck, but in this place it’s transferring from circle 1 of hell into circle 9. For next time, in another day in the life of a line cook.

Anaphylaxis. Free of charge!

I’ve written about my fish allergies before. I’ve had to live with the awful reactions all of my adult life. I always inform my co-workers and kindly ask them to please be careful. I understand that mistakes can happen and it’s easy to forget such a miniscule thing if it doesn’t affect you personally. I get it. It’s my problem and no one else’s. That’s one of the reasons why I humbly request that I am allowed a personal spatula, knife, and towel. Don’t touch any of those during my shift and everything should be peachy. Another reason is because most people I’ve worked with are complete slobs, though the allergy still has significant merit.

I’ll just give you a quick example of my reaction severity. Let’s say another cook grabs a piece of salmon and places it on the grill, broiler, in a pan; whatever. He then goes and rinses his hands under water. When he comes back, he grabs my spatula to flip something else. I then grab that spatula, and even though he rinsed his hands off, within sixty seconds my hands begin to itch. Within another sixty they begin to turn red with blotches and hives make their evil presence known. Now here’s the thing. If I happened to touch another part of my body before the initial sixty seconds of detection, now that area is also affected. So before I know it, I could potentially have spread it to other parts of my body. This sucks very much so because the allergic reaction keeps progressing until the hives actually begin to burn and hurt. So now I’m itchy, red, bumpy, burning, and all around uncomfortable. This was from one little error. So, please, please, do not touch my working utensils. Feel free to make use of the forty other ones around the kitchen.

Tuesday, my co-workers got to see firsthand what happens when I come in contact with even the littlest amount of that type of product. I was just cooking away as normal when all of a sudden I noticed my eye was irritated. When this happens, an internal alarm goes off inside my brain. I’ve probably been exposed to fish somehow and happened to touch my face. Okay, think, how did this happen? I just washed my hands and wiped my face with the wet paper towel from the dispenser. What happened before that? It seems my co-worker had pulled out a bunch of tilapia (gross) from the freezer and placed them in the walk-in cooler to thaw. He then washed his hands. I must have got it from the residue on the handle, that’s all I can think of, and yes, that is enough to begin the whole terrible ordeal. Even though I washed with soap, I still had to touch the faucet knob after the fact. Had I turned off the water with the paper towel, like we’re supposed to, I still would have wiped my face with it. Boom, solved.

Okay, no big deal. I will just take this opportunity to delicately remind everyone of my situation. Please be careful when touching fish. Thank you. I just leave it at that. The thing that really pisses me off is that everyone should already know about safe restaurant practices when it comes to preparing food. We have designated tongs to handle seafood, chicken, and beef. The other thing is that you are required to put on a pair of disposable gloves before handling these specific types of food. Customers come with all types of allergies, not just me, and cross-contamination is a serious issue. It’s just good health practice to follow this basic procedure.

So now I have to finish my shift with an itchy and extremely swollen eye. And, yes, it’s very noticeable. I have no reason for concern other than it takes three to four hours after I’ve flushed it out to subside. Now I look like I’ve been punched in the face and it’s not flattering on me. The cook apologizes about fifty times as he can now understand, visually, that I’m not full of shit. I’m not mad at him because like I stated before, I don’t expect everyone to cater to me and it’s easy to forget if you’re not affected. Alrighty, we got that out of the way, now they all know! Shouldn’t be a problem again.

To go into further precautions, the KM announces that any of our fish items that need to be prepared have to go to the opposite side of the kitchen from where I’m working. This shouldn’t be an inconvenience because we normally only cook like maybe two or three fish dishes during my scheduled hours. Plus, I can always take a few tickets from the other side to even it out should they need to do this. The positive thing is now everyone is aware, will possibly be more careful, and will leave my shit alone, plus they got to learn something new that day and with an excellent observed demonstration. Ya, we all win!

Fast forward to the VERY NEXT FUCKING DAY. I’m working with the same cook that innocently caused my reaction. We are getting crushed and he begins to start falling behind on his side. I jump over to help him out on his grills when all of a sudden he removes the lid from a covered item and this huge plum of vapor hits me squarely in the face. To my utter dismay, it was tilapia. I snap back once I realize what just happened, but it’s too late, my lungs are now full of that wonderful mist. I yelled out in disbelief, “Ben!” and look at him with my face in awe. He replies, “Oh, fuck, I forgot!” I can surely see how as it was all of a whopping twenty-four hours ago since the last episode. Yes, I should have looked, but dude, you could have maybe given me a little warning. Oh my fucking God! This is bad.

Within a minute I can feel my chest begin to tighten. “Oh no, oh shit, oh dear God” I think to myself. The process is beginning. Another minute passes and I am starting to have problems breathing. A few more minutes later and I can only take shallow breaths. I freak the fuck out and run into the prep area. The bakery manager sees me choking and comes to see what’s happening. I am having trouble talking but manage to briefly explain what’s going on. I can literally only get out a couple of words before I need to gasp in a fresh breath. She gets the GM and he starts asking me questions on what to do or how he can help. He tells me to go outside to get some fresh air. WTF! Are you kidding me!?

My heart rate is beginning to skyrocket as I can feel my fucking ears begin to pulse and my head is getting tingly. I become increasingly dizzy as the seconds tick by. I am on the verge of passing out either because my blood pressure just bottomed out or because my blood oxygen level is depleting, not to mention I am shaking violently from sheer terror and panic. The voice in my head is screaming, "OMG! Is this really happening!? Am I going into shock!?" I plop right down there on the ground in the back. I try to calm myself down and try to take slow and as deep of breaths I can. If I pass out, these guys will never figure out what to do and I’ll likely die, AT WORK, and in a place that I HATE! I’m not going out like this. No fucking way.

Employees begin to swarm around me like bees all wondering what the commotion is. The GM instructs someone to call 911. I grab his arm and tell him, “get…me…to…the…hospital.” He scoops me up and out the door we go. Luckily the restaurant is located right off the interstate and the emergency room is maybe a five minute drive away. He takes off like a bat out of hell as I lay slumped over in his passenger seat. Within a minute I noticeably can feel myself coming out of my pass out phase. The fresh air must be helping or maybe I’m calmer as I now know I will be getting aid shortly. I still can’t breathe very well and am coughing violently but my head is beginning to clear and I am not so dizzy anymore.

We pull up at the ER doors and he fucking goes running in without me like a track superstar. A few moments later, two ladies come racing out as I’m about half way from the car to the doors. Jesus, he must have told them I was dead. They help me inside and into a room and start drilling me with questions. I am able to tell them what is going on and one begins to prepare a shot of some sort. I see the syringe and am pretty sure of what’s inside, because I have one at home for emergencies. It’s called an epipen and I go and get a new one every year. They begin to get this breathing machine ready when the doc enters. He tells them not to worry about that and after maybe ten seconds, he injects me. The ER must not see much action because I was the guest of honor for sure. There were so many people around me if even just to observe.

I begin to come around in no time at all. Within five minutes I am 100% better than I was. The doc asks me some questions pertaining to what happened and gives me some information. I tell him that I do have an injector at home though only take it with me on trips or leisurely locations like camping and such. He explains to me, and I do already know, that the shot is designed to be able to be carried on my person at ALL times.

I wholeheartedly fucking agree. I’ve never had a reaction this severe and will gladly keep the injector within a minute’s grasp, whether in my vehicle or duct taped to my damn waist. He demonstrates where and how to give myself the injection and in any remotely close situation, administer the shot and seek immediate medical attention. Don’t try to drive myself to the ER and to call 911, no matter how much better I feel. He gives me the go ahead to leave fairly quickly after my improvements.

We roll back to the restaurant and I explain that I’m just going home. I’m too embarrassed to go back inside and the GM concurs. This guy looks pale as hell, even more than me. I think he nearly had a heart attack over the whole situation. I make it home with no problems and just chill out the rest of the night. Shortly before I’m getting ready for bed, I get a call from the restaurant. I answer it and it’s the GM. He wants to know if I’m still okay. I tell him I feel fine and not to worry. I’ll be able to work tomorrow.

I show up yesterday day for work and everyone wants to hear the drama filled story and I joke around and try to play light of it. One of the servers said it’s not funny because when she saw me on the floor, my skin was turning bluish gray. She really thought I was going to die. I agreed and thanked her for her concern, but I’m okay. I just don’t really like all the attention. I do appreciate the sentiments, believe me I do, but I’d rather forget the whole thing even happened. And to clarify, I do not blame the cook who pulled the lid up and exposed the vapor. It wasn't his fault as I should have been more aware when going over to his section. It was an accident and I will take responsibility, but come on.

The assistant GM was personally going around telling people that there is a corporate representative coming next week for mandatory education for all store employees and he needs their signatures to verify that they were instructed of such. We will all be required to do the training, of course, on food safety, in shifts and pass a test. Fuck, now everyone is going to be grumpy with me because I almost died. Man, I truly am selfish. In all honesty, I don’t believe I would have expired, though am very satisfied with how that particular event concluded. I don’t think I’ve ever been more terrified in my lifetime.

Well, I’m going to go ahead and end this here and hope to never write of a similar experience again. Until we meet again, in another day in the life of a line cook.

Week 2 completed. Outlook is bleak.

I really don’t have much to add so far. Week 2 ended yesterday with no real drama to speak of other than a customer having a heart attack while dining. I was on my way out when I was passed by a couple of EMTs with a stretcher. I didn’t stick around to see how the situation resolved. Hopefully the gentleman is alright. I’m sure I’ll find out tomorrow.

The episode did bring back a sad memory of an older man who died on the sidewalk right outside the door of the first restaurant I ever worked at. It was awful seeing him lying motionless on the ground and no one could help him, his wife sobbing while kneeling by his side.

And on the same subject, a woman in her early 40’s died in one of the factories I worked at too. The supervisors tried to resuscitate her but could not. She was also just lying there without any kind of response. It was later concluded she had a heart defect and was dead before she even hit the ground. It’s really tragic and a bit frightening to think that in a split second, it can all be over. Even though I hate my job, I do love life.

Anyways, enough with the drivel. As I wrote before, there really isn’t any drama to bitch about. All of the servers are either sweethearts or cool as hell. They can all get spastic during the stressful times, but so does everyone else in general. My fellow co-cooks, the few that exist, are really swell people too. Since we are so ungodly understaffed, there isn’t a mass of idiots to piss me off. I basically cook by myself until one of the two other day cooks comes in for the day. There should actually be at least four more but this place can’t keep competent help either. When I worked here last time there were eight of us just to cover the morning shifts, and we’d still run short once in awhile.

There are some really retarded changes that the all-knowing corporate dumb shits decided to switch around that make it even harder to do an already incredibility difficult job. Last time I was here it was a privately owned franchise so we had plenty of wiggle room on how we chose to do certain things so long as we followed the core principles. Now it’s run by people who make the policies and really have no idea how to do the jobs as efficiently as a veteran.

One thing that really annoys me is how we are required to cook at all times when there are only two cooks on. I briefly explained our kitchen set up in the last post; it’s essentially two lines in one, just mirrored. Back in the day, there would be two and sometimes three of us on the one side of the line. This worked exceedingly well as we could cover all the stations with ease and hammer out some serious food. Everyone could back each other up if need be. Now it’s corporate policy that if there are only two cooks working, there has to be one on each side with both cooking solo. It’s so stupid.

Two good cooks can easily pound out considerably more food and in much quicker time with double the tickets on one side. But no, let’s make it harder because they think it’s more efficient. That part really pisses me off. In theory it sounds like a good idea, but in reality it doesn’t work at all, but they apparently refuse to believe so, therefore that’s how we have to do it. If any of those dickheads would actually test it out, they would see it blows and food ends up taking longer.

Another thing is that some people work fine solo or with a teammate, while others are terrible solo and only good with a teammate. So when you get a partner that sucks ass by himself or herself, you have to pick up the extra slack from the other side and it increases you workload by volumes. It’s much easier to help out a person who is right beside you than running back and forth to the other side to help start food, plate, or even to just take tickets from their printer. I’ve tried to squeeze that rule aside and the moment a manager sees two of us cooking together, they break that shit up immediately. So I’ve successfully tested that law and it is indeed set in stone.

An additional bitch of mine is the smoke break routine. Yeah, I know it’s a disgusting habit and I’m actually trying to cut back and eventually quit. As I’ve stated many times before, I just need like maybe three to four minutes to grab a few puffs and get away from the evil printers and then I’m good to go for hours on end. We can no longer use the back doors (there are two) to go outside. They have to remain closed and locked unless you’re taking out garbage or there is an incoming delivery. Some assholes messed this up because they were going out to smoke sometimes twice an hour so now that’s policy too, and they don’t even work here anymore.

So now we have to go through the pantry, out into the dining room, through the waiting area, and then eventually out the door leading to sweet freedom. After another two minute trek around the building you finally reach the employee parking lot, where we are allowed to smoke. Said parking lot is all of five feet away from one of the back doors. You could go out to smoke and be back within literally three minutes if we were granted access, but nope.

The other thing that sucks about this ordeal is sometimes you have to plow through like fifty people standing in the waiting area, all the way though the doorway, and piled up down the sidewalk for about twenty feet, all wanting a table. I always put on a smile to seem friendly while walking past customers and hold the door open on my way out, but if it’s been a busy morning/day, my uniform is generally covered in all of the shit that was flying around throughout the shift, and that just can’t look good. No to mention I smell like smoke and grease within an hour of entering the kitchen, so I’m sure that is offensive as well.

The other day I made eye contact with an older bird. I was reaching to open the door for her and the bitch rams me with it and just looks at me with a scowl on her face and walks by. I wanted to put her head through the fucking glass, but of course it was only a fantasy which would never come to be realized. I’m sure she complained about her food or something too, dumb cunt. Hit me with a door when I’m not working you old bat and you may trip and fall down, probably not but I can dream, plus I could have at least yelled at her. Some people just don’t deserve to live. How servers deal with people like this on a daily basis I will never know.

Anyways, so rather than just hop out and back in super quickly, it’s a task to get out and back in. Normally I will just go out right before the rush begins and then that’s it for the day. I’m tired of trying to meander through the sea of patrons both ways. So I’ve accepted that fact also.

So far, the only time I’ve been pissed off at a co-worker is when we were getting creamed all damn day and there was a super tiny lull in the orders. He told me to hurry up and go smoke. I declined after I looked out into the entry way and seen it was packed wall to wall. I told him to go ahead and that I’ll just wait until I get off for the day, hopefully six hours from then. This dude is a faster smoker than me and he has always understood the sense of urgency to get your ass back to the line because we are about to get crushed at any given moment. This doesn’t dawn on him this time for some reason.

He first goes to the bathroom to take a dump. Yeah, gross. Do that shit (pun intended) at home. I can understand if someone needs to take a quick piss but not plop down on the pot for ten minutes in a community toilet. That’s just disgusting, but maybe that’s just me. After his discharge, he asks me if he can use my lighter. Fucker better had washed his hands. I hastily give it to him and tell him to hurry up. Ten more minutes pass by and I’m getting so backed up with orders there is no way I can drop all of the food. He comes back in laughing and goofing around with one of the waitresses. Fuckin’ dickhead. Now we are completely buried and we’re both one step behind for the next four hours or so. That one little instance fucked us up entirely. It’s bad enough that you always, and I mean always, have a few orders throughout the whole shift. You literally never stop cooking until someone takes over for you and you can go for the day. It sucks immensely more when you don’t do your best to ensure you can keep up. Playing “catch up” is nearly impossible during the busy times. So that completely ruined my day.

I leave for the day, again squeezing through loyal patrons and around the building into the parking lot, and I finally reach my vehicle and whip out a smoke. Ah, finally, after nearly seven hours of being smokeless, here comes sweet relief. I go to retrieve my lighter out of my pocket and it is missing! Oh my fucking God! That butthole didn’t give it back to me! Argh!! Now I have to make a choice of trying to crawl through the mob of people to get my lighter or just suffer on my twenty minute commute home.

If you don’t have the misfortune of making the horrible choice to start smoking you won’t understand the dilemma. When I leave for the day, the first thought in my brain is that I finally get to smoke a cig. Now when this thought pops into your mind, you cannot get it out of your head until you’ve had that evil cigarette. So it’s maddening to a smoker when it gets delayed even just a little bit, and even more infuriating when it’s because of a co-worker that borrowed your lighter and didn’t return it and coincidentally previously had already ruined your day. I decide to just suck it up and curse his name on my drive home. Twenty minutes later I receive my toxic chemicals and all is right in the world again, if even for only that short while.

Well I guess it’s not hard for me to find something to bitch about after all. I’ll try to update more often if the chance arises. It’s just the constant barrage of orders takes all of my energy and I’m so damn tired when I get home. I don’t get a break and never sit down so I don’t eat and it’s actually a challenge some days to get a glass of water. There’s just no time. The place is so busy that it’s a non-stop race each and every day. Every bit of slow time you have is used to restock or prep your items and clean. It’s quite overwhelming at times but here I am anyways. I’m going to end this here before it gets any longer and go enjoy the rest of my day off. Until next time, in another day in the life of a line cook.