# One night at work



## TheWhiteRabbit (Jan 17, 2006)

I'm on my way to work.  Marylin Manson is playing on the CD player in my car.  I turn it up.  I don't like going to this job.  It's easy and mostly mindless but hard on the knees.  It's a job for a younger man.  I pull in and shut off the car.  I get out and walk into the back door of the building and strong odors of seafood and meat assault my nostrils.  I hang up my coat hoping I get used to the smell soon.
     I walk over to the computer and clock in.  Time to work.  I greet people with a nod and a "What's up"?  I start looking over my work station.  It seems to be in pretty good order, I just need to fill it up.  It's going to be busy tonight.  I hit the cooler and start grabbing fish.  Salmon, tuna, mahi mahi, monkfish all go into my station.  I pick some scallops and beard some mussels.  I wonder why it is called bearding when you are actually de-bearding the mussels.  Now my hands stink.  More fish needs to come out; seabass, tilapia, swordfish and shrimp.
     I wash my hands and start slicing mushrooms for some of the pastas I'll be cooking while discussing the difference between a pothead and someone who gets high with the chef.  Chefs a pothead.  I don't do that shit but I tell him he's no pothead.  I look down the line and see the new guy is working the grill tonight.  He has a black eye.  Must have been running his mouth, I can imagine that happening alot.  Great, new guy on the grill with one working eye.  Tonight might get ugly.
     After I'm all set up I start to wipe down and sanitize my station.  Everyone else heads out to smoke.  Makes me wish I still smoked.  No, wait, it's a vile habbit and I'm happy I quit I tell myself.  Servers are getting to work in typical fashion; stoned, late and hungry.  I don't even know their names.  It's ok, they don't know mine either.
     It's 5 o'clock.  Guests are arriving, lots of them, and I am ready to cook their food.  Time flies by when it gets busy.  I hope tonight is over soon.  I can hear the constant buzz of the printer ringing in checks.  Chefs calling off orders at a furious pace.  Did he say shrimp or trout?  He has a case of mush-mouth tonight.  The fires behind me are filled with different fish and pastas.  Some sweat lands on my tongue.  Why is mytongue out?  Why is my sweat so salty?  Maybe it's Cystic Fibrosis.  That would mean I have a gene that id dominant recessive.  Or is it autosomal recessive?  Why am I thinking about school?  Cook the food dumbass.
     I don't hear the chef anymore.  Not a good sign.  I look over and see him helping the grill cook.  New guy went down, can't handle the business.  Orders are still ringing in.  I walk down and start reading them for myself.  I keep cooking fish.  Blackened, grilled, sauteed, picate.  It's all the same soon enough.  The owner is in the kitchen now.  That's a bad sign too.  He starts yanking checks off the printer.  He walks over to me and hands me a stack of orders.  "These tables all ordered pastas Rabbit.  Sell 'em as soon as possible."  I get his orders rolling.
     The chef starts yelling at people.  He cracked.  Now the owner and general manager are yelling at the chef.  They cracked.  The sous chef just shrugs at me.  She's calm, she's always calm.  I drop a piece of salmon on the floor, pick it back up and throw it on the grill.  Whatever, they'll never know or care.  Someone's yelling to my right.  I look over and see the dishwasher yelling at some servers for standing in his way.  They yell back.  What the fuck is gong on here?  I look across the line and see ten or so servers all starring at the chef and the new guy.  All waiting for their tables food.  This is embarrising, I'm a better cook than this I tell myself.
     All the food finally goes out of the kichen.  I head over to the dishtank and start scrubbing pots and pans.  After an hour of dishes, the chef walks over and apologizes for yelling.  I tell him it's no big deal.  He says "You get paid too much to do dishes Rabbit.  Go home."  I thought I was just getting the job done.  Whatever.  I clock out, grab my jacket and head out the back door.  I can't smell the fish anymore.  Must have gotten used to it.  I start my car up and Marylin Manson is on the CD.  I turn it up and go home.


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## mammamaia (Jan 17, 2006)

most don't like reading solid blocks of text, so you'll get more comments if you divide it up into paragraphs, with line breaks... 

as for the content, i can't see why it would appeal to anyone but the person who wrote it... is there a point to this piece that i'm missing?...


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## TheWhiteRabbit (Jan 18, 2006)

Thanks.  As for the content, you aren't missing a thing.  I was sort of just describing Saturday night at work.  That's all.


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## Kat (Jan 19, 2006)

I found it interesting, a day in the life kind of piece. Although I agree about the line breaks.


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## sangfroid (Jan 19, 2006)

If it was an instruction manual for something complicated, I'd complain about the line breaks. But I don't mind it how it is. It gives a "stream of consciousness" effect. As for content - I didn't write it, yet I read the whole thing, so it must have _some_ appeal!


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## TheWhiteRabbit (Jan 19, 2006)

I hate sounding like a noob so I apologize ahead of time.  How do I put in a line break?  Do I just hit the (enter) key a couple of times?


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## mammamaia (Jan 20, 2006)

yup!... use the 'go advanced' option... it works better...


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