Sandy Supposes....

Cooking Gave Me Gas...

PROMPT: Have you ever taken a job you didn't want in order to support yourself? What was it? In "The Meaning of Work", an episode of NPR's Ted radio Hour, psychologist Barry Schwartz asks, "Why is it that for the overwhelming majority of people on the planet, the work they do has none of the characteristics that gets us up and out of bed toward the office every morning?" Are you working in your dream profession now?

         In answer to this prompt's first question, yes. Yes, I have toiled at a thankless job. I was hesitant to take the position, but I was wheedled into it, a do-a -friend-a-favour job. I was assured I could handle it. At its inception, I'd been out of the work force for a short time due to health issues, and I wanted to try something new. I must admit the chance to work locally, and forgo commuting appealed to me. Well, there's always new skills to learn, you know, challenges, and new people to meet. And I definitely handled challenges!

          There was no initiation period, or gradual introduction. Immediately, I became a cook in an extremely busy, and popular restaurant in the height of the summer tourist season. It was a fast-paced atmosphere; go go, hustle, always on my feet and moving. Never was there time for breaks. The entire shift was jam-packed with activities. Not only food prepared for non-stop customers, but food prepping, receiving of supplies and their storage, cleaning, ordering essentials, cleaning, and visits from health inspectors. Oh, it was a whirlwind. The trouble was the owner/boss chose to lead from a distance.

         He was often out of the country for prolonged periods of time, and we, the staff were left to run the restaurant. Scheduling was non-existent, and time off was difficult to arrange. Rarely, did I manage to have two days back to back away from the business. Even when he made an appearance, the boss didn't think this was a priority. From day to day, I wasn't always certain of my working hours. I had to self-co-ordinate with the other cooks.

         Argh! Did I mention I was the sole non-smoker? If there was a brief pocket of time between cooking orders, the other cooks, all males, I might add, buggered off outside to smoke. Their attitudes were the hell with prep. Um, if the prep wasn't done, it complicated the cooking, and created longer shifts. It's time-consuming and aggravating to be dicing onions, mixing dough, or whatever at a furious pace at the very time those items are needed. It's all about time management, and planning. The guys would rather piss and moan when they ran out of stuff, and then blame each other.

          I came to realize that I'd been hired to babysit one cook in particular, let's refer to him as Craig because that was his name. For some reason the boss, my friend, tolerated everything this cook did. The others preferred not to work beside him any more, they'd had enough. Craig was a junkie and a drunk. He'd turn up stoned. The moment his shift ended he bee-lined to the beer store and bought his night's supply of beer. He'd turn up hung over. He was slovenly. He was loud and opinionated, customers heard him out front. He was a drama queen. The busier the kitchen became, the slower he'd react. He'd curse. He'd drop food on the floor and try to serve it. He'd mix up orders. He'd become belligerent. With all this, Craig had a high regard for his abilities. He considered himself the best. And, oh, his non-stop stories that were altered everyday. Even he couldn't keep his own facts straight.

         His favourite tale concerned the time he'd blacked out in the kitchen, (his inaccurate words). To describe myself as irked would be stating it mildly. He played fast and loose with this occurrence, and I know because I was with him when it all happened. It was a typical morning breakfast rush, and Craig had arrived stoned. He could barely mumble, his eyes were glazed, and he stumbled about. This restaurant kitchen had tile floors always slippery with something. The grill was gas-fired. Grease splatters. Sharp knives are used. We have to move quickly. Anyway, standing at the sizzling grill, Craig begins to shake, foam at the mouth, and his eyes rolled back in his head. He was experiencing a full body seizure. He was heading face first for the grill when I caught him and eased him to the floor. His thrashing knocked his head against the floor, and somehow one of his feet became wedged under the grill. I yelled for a waitress to call 911, and I managed to roll him onto his side. All the food was ignored and burned on the grill. Orders backed up. Paramedics invaded the kitchen and whisked Craig away. This was a first for me.

         Within a few days, Craig returned and then tried to tell me the story as if I hadn't been there. He admitted to the drug use, and thought he might cut back a bit. Huh, he only added drinking on the job. I found his beer stash in a storage room. As I said, the boss forgave him everything.

         I lasted three and a half years before I quit. I didn't need the stress. I tried to work with Craig, but he was more interested in self-destructing.

         Ah, Elaine a middle-aged waitress was a different character. I began referring to her "incidents" as Elaine'isms, and she could make me laugh. It was with relief that I noticed a dishwasher had been hired for one summer. We sure needed her help! She was a well-endowed, shy sixteen -year old working her first job. The rest of us had been a crew for years, and we knew the bustle and the banter. Elaine actually confronted this newbie and said, "I don't know why you're working here. If I had your God-given talents, I'd be working at Hooter's." Imagine sharing that with a young lady! Elaine also panicked one night because she had a French truck driver as a customer and she didn't know what he wanted. I asked her to explain to me what he'd said. "I don't get it. He wants something called mayonnaise. What is that?" I just looked at her. "Um Elaine, he wants mayo." "Huh, are you sure?"

         No, I am not currently working in my dream job. I have no idea what that is. I'm semi-retired at home. I keep the books, and crunch the numbers for our trucking business. I'm the favoured chauffeur for those who need a ride. I run errands for family. I babysit. Sometimes, I'm even a woman of leisure.