I do have stories to tell and comments and emails to answer but I have been trying to deal with a change in my work schedule. My boss asked me if I would be interested in working days, and I said yes, so she scheduled me from 2 a.m. ’til noon. It wasn’t what I had thought of when she had said days, but I was willing to give it a try. Sunday (my night off) I was asleep, deeply deeply asleep at 2 a.m. when my cell phone rang. It was my supervisor who was ill and near tears asking if I could possibly go down to the restaurant. There was some big wig meeting with the higher ups, the suits behind the curtains, the real men in charge plus she needed inventory done. I said yes and flopped me legs over the side of the bed asking “when?” She answered “6 a.m.” and the only thing to do was to put on a big pot of coffee.
I made it through that day fine and then resumed my not a day shift, not a night shift . This morning after a long night I was finishing up some dessert items with my supervisor. She sent me over to the stove top to cook a fruit sauce and one of the chefs, not the big cheese chef, but maybe the medium cheddar? chef screamed at me to get out of his way. As I gathered my few items up I could feel tears spring to my eyes I was so stunned. As I made my retreat he shouted out again, “This is a big kitchen, you can find another place to make that!”(For the record, small kitchen for such a large restaurant, only one stove top, six burners) It was in my mind as I was walking back towards the tiny baker’s bench we work on to unbutton my chef jacket, to throw my company provided hat in the garbage and to just walk out. I went to my supervisor and told her I couldn’t make the cherry sauce . She took the pot from me and went and placed it on the stove top. No one said a work to her. She tried to make light of it, telling me that Chef Medium Cheddar was having a bad day. Funny, I was having a bad day all of the sudden too.
I worked on the tiramisu and after I’d finished that we started wrapping desserts. I placed our dirty dishes into our large mixing bowl (the one with wheels) and pushed it carefully through the maze of people into the dish room. As soon as I entered ,the dishwasher screamed, “I keep doing more and more dishes and more keep coming!” I was going to make a no shit type of comment but I looked at his red face, the spit flying, the wild eyes and got the fuck out of there. That particular dishwasher is one I don’t like to interact with as he either has some sort of mental retardation or he’s so fucked from too many years of drug use that he can barely function except to wash dishes and when he feels the need to talk, the subject of his prison records and list of felonies always comes up and the whole thing makes me shudder and think of that guy in Silence of the Lambs, “It rubs the lotion on its skin. It does this whenever it is told.”
Strangely, Buffalo Bill dishwasher came right up to me before I left and apologized. I respect that. Chef Medium Cheddar played everything is just fine and yelled out something I couldn’t hear about there being water on the floor, and where did it come from? as I walked away, no turning back.
Anyway, I am home now and heading toward the bed, but I just wanted to get this off of my chest. I haven’t told Alex and I don’t think I will because he always points out that I don’t stick up for myself and that I really should, but it’s very hard for me.