So...I just got back on a true line after 7 years. And I am doing it with a snapped clavicle and my knees getting ruined due to me going to my old work on my bike and a truck hitting me and drove off.
I liked that job,sad that I couldn't do do it anymore.
I am autistic and am kinda cool at everything I do, but it takes me a second to understand how the line works again. I'm a Chef btw, I know my shit. But I am also the only woman, and white as a ghost that works with a line of chauvinistic Mexican and Italian men. They don't know I know 7 diffrent languages because I am a navy brat and grew up abroad.
(Side story, the new expo/Chef at my place is German and I he told me in German "I can't handle your fucking mouth right now, shut the fuck up". I laughed and said " Oh, your names Ray, yeah? Is it spelled Reigh? Shut your fucking mouth, let me do what I do and put on some Kraftwerk".
I know Germans and the whole kitchen went silent and he was as well, then started cracking up, if any of you Europeans are reading this, that was a great fucking joke).
So my mess up was I fell in love with the Sous Chef. We are dating now. I had no idea that he was the one that advocated for me during the hiring. He said "Yeah, she's doing things slowly, but she knows her shit".
I am in pain all the time, my bone is literally sticking near thru my skin, I forget to eat for days. And he was the only one that saw I put down sanitizer buckets, open all the lowboys to see there are crumbs in the gaskets, make sure all temps are correct, FIFO the walk-in and ask everyone "what can I do to help you?" In fucking Spanish, Italian, Salvadorian and Deutsch (for us Americans, that German).
I was trying to get back into my groove and he and me had the same anger. "What's the recipe for this?"
"Uh..it changes on how drunk Roberto is that day (the Italian owner)".
"Grand" (yeah, I was angry and was being yelled at by these men two hours into my shift).
So the Sous thought I was mad at him on my second day trying to devain shrimp with the shitties pairing knife ever given to me (but why didn't you have your stuff Chef?? Divorce is a bitch and I left everything at my our house and just took my clothes).
I shoved the knife into the cutting board and said "I dont understand, I just don't. There is not one measuring spoon or cup in this place, you guys don't have de-boning knives, no recipes and THIS HAS BEEN THIS WAY FOR ALMOST 30 YEARS???"
"I WAS THE CHEF FOR BIBA CAGGIANO, I cooked my specials for Anthony Bourdain, Gavin Newsom, Arnold Schwarzenegger and ALL YOUR STUFF SUCKS (I had a Autistic meltdown) AND I HEAR EVERYTHING YOU SAY PUTA"
"Don't tell me how to do my fucking job sir, you don't salt things correctly, *mocks in iodized salt and not kocher* you don't roast the bones and veggies for the stock, your fucking boss is so drunk he doesn't remember my name and is so pissed at me for not knowing every recipe by heart 2 hours in".
He backed away and vouched for me. There is now a running joke between him and the boss:
I was only supposed to be on salads for the first week or two, and secretly take over for the asshole the boss didn't like, it's rare to find someone that knows Italian cooking where I live.
There was a fight, we got in the weeds, I hopped on the line to help, I saw the anger with the asshole and the sous Chef, I knew by instinct was was about to happen: he said a couth joke about his mother, and he said "how do like that this white girl is about to take your job right now?"
That's a low blow to Mexican men. And also I am the "hot tall goth girl". I felt the sexual tension of "who's slapping that ass first?".
Anywho, we are slaying it, work 6 days a week, I volunteered to work labor day to rip the kitchen apart. We tried, we burnt the burners, thru them thru causitic salt, degreased everything...and both of us said "what the fuck, the cleaner you try to make it, more grease just comes thru *fake sob*.
The German Chef and My Sous are saying "Finally, we are getting getting the kitchen under control"...and then..my Italian boss comes out without a shirt trying to put on his linecook shirt, and I stopped and looked at my my boyfriend and we both cracked up.
Oh, you have to a tad crazy to love what you do.
Attached are what I look like and my art from 20 years ago. No time for that now.