So. My biggest pet peeve of all time is general stupidity. And I define that by the distinct lack of common sense. And the biggest problem with it all, you can’t fix it, teach it, make a checklist, test for it. And you could be a smart motherfucker; sometimes it just creeps up on you. I’ll admit to it, here and there.
What brings on this tangent I’m steering us through right now is a simple conversation that was had in the midst of the kitchen. Just a small casual conversation. The back story is as follows: I left work Friday to go to court for a stupid ass traffic ticket I got for expired plates. I served breakfast, lunch, cleaned, and WASHED ALL THE DISHES. It didn’t matter if they were mine or not, they were in the dish room, they got washed. It’s fucking simple dish karma. And we don’t have the luxury of having some poor fucker in there all day for the sole purpose of doing them all, so we all have to take a turn. I digress.
After I had finished my dishes and left three perfect sinks for the next asshole who was going to get cornered in there for god knows how many hours scrubbing carbon off shitty pans, I took off for my court date. The weekend passed, and here we are Monday morning. Just a glimpse into my day, I like having nights and weekends off, and in return, I run a full service omelette station for breakfast and serve a solid 400 plates for lunch. In addition to various catering events held in the facility throughout the day. My head has a constant five menus going through it at all times. I digress again. Monday is here and all that, and I’ve got all 8 burners on, every oven and convection has a pan of something or other, the flat top is going with eggs, hash browns, french toast, waffles. There are no timers in this kitchen, what the hell would be the use of them. I’m not explaining all this to invoke pity or anything like that. I’m telling you this so I can paint a picture of what my morning looked like when the new cashier came into the back and brought everything to a temporary standstill.
“Umm, I need these dishes washed like, right away, cause like, I’m not going to stay here and do them again tonight. I washed every single dish in this place on Friday, and I ain’t doing it again.”
Yeah, I was maybe just a little baffled as to a few details. The first was, what the fuck do I care of your perfect little manicure was stuck here doing dishes? Shit, I run the place, maybe I should care about those things. The second thing I was thinking about was my bacon, which I fancied I could hear sizzling from across the room. I had to get it out of there, redoing it was going to set me back immensely. But first, I really had to get this chick and the story that I didn’t give a fuck about out of my face before I started throwing things at her.
“That’s nice.” I say, pirouetting around her to grab both bacon and a tray of almost forgotten biscuits out of the oven. “Not really a good time to talk about it.”
She (who will from here on out be referred to as Princess) shrugs and plants herself right next to my station and continues to bitch about how there was stuff stuck to all the pans and blah blah blah. I think the death glare I gave her as I whisked the gravy was enough, she eventually sauntered away.
So I was out for my smoke after my breakfast/lunch mad scramble to get all the food made. And that’s when I had time to sort of analyze what she had said to me. I think she was telling me to do the dishes. So, not wanting to be pissed off for the wrong reasons, I casually ask her as I’m getting my coffee. “Did you tell me to do the dishes?”
“Yeah, I’m not staying around to do them again. Besides, you get them all dirty, why should I do them?”
Not gonna lie, I sent her ass home. Really?! If there’s one thing I learned during this weird climb to where I’m at right now, it’s that you don’t ask someone to do something you’re not willing to throw down and do yourself. That includes dishes, cleaning the fryers, scrubbing the toilet, mopping the floor, dealing with irate customers, and so on. And be visible about it. I’ll clean the fryers when people are there, or they really think a little elf comes in and does it over the weekend so that their mozz sticks taste fresh. No, I do it cause it’s dirty and I want it done the right way every time. If you want to impress me, do it to my standards, not just half ass.
So after her tirade at me, and finding that she just half assed it the whole day, I sent her home. I’m not going to be busting my ass along with everyone else, just for one person to have enough time to sneak into the hall and have an epic chat while I cover her shit. Not going to happen.
It was after that my day really went to shit. Nosed around in her cooler for a little bit, just to make sure there was nothing outdated in there, anything I could use for soup or whatever and I was slapped in the face by a suspicious puddle fo red at the bottom of the cooler. There was a bag of bread partially covering it, and I could feel myself involuntarily convulse. Yes, it was blood. From an animal. I don’t know where it came from. But I spent the rest of my day tossing out anything that it might have touched, cleaning it, and putting together a fun little pamphlet on the joys of bacteria complete with pictures. If I have to look at shit when I open your cooler, you’re going to literally look at shit when you open it, and I hope you think of me.
Princess is not going to be pleased.
Anyway, I hope everyone else’s Mondays were awesome. Cause after all was said and done, it really was a good day. 😀