Saturday, September 17, 2011

We Put In Our Three Weeks Notice

Okay, so we never got the three weeks notice/resignation in...we ran out of time on Friday to bring it to the "boss". We will on Monday though...

So, yesterday, aside from saying goodbye to Fuck Face quite unexpectedly…we also had a hell of a day at work.

About three days ago the one guy we work with in our kitchen station got upset, because when we leaned down to get something out of the fridge by his knee, in the thick of rush service, we put our hand on his side to let him know we were there. He jumped to the side, partially tripped over our kitchen clog, got angry and wore because he thought we were pushing him.

First, anyone who knows how a hotline in a kitchen works when you are getting slammed knows you are moving around very quickly, and it is not unheard of to put your hand on someone to let them know you are there, especially if you need them to move aside and you don’t want to risk any “below the waist touching” on accident. Plus, what could we gain from pushing him in the middle of a rush? Ignorant little twat.

So we could tell something was up because he wasn’t friendly or nice to us for the next two days. Which is fine, because we are leaving in three weeks, and fuck him, he’s a stupid kid; we just want to get our job done, make it through the day and get the fuck away from people.

Then yesterday we were going to put in our three week notice because we have not heard anything about the paperwork/short form they tried to push through last minute and we wanted to make sure we end this job right (because we never have before) in case we make it back to this city with a valid work permit, and want to be employed.  We’re pretty much the master at walking off of a job with no explanation.

But then the sous chef (the sous chef in a kitchen is the one who is right under the chef as far as kitchen management goes) took our station partner to his office while we were cleaning up at the end of service, and following that he took us aside, sitting us down in his “office”, which is just one are of the building where donuts are sold, right off of the kitchen.

The first thing he asked was about us saying something on the hotline.

“Did you look at a bill and say ‘god damn chicken’?” (a “bill” is the receipt/written slip of paper that has the order on it)

He could see the shock and confusion on our face. We, at that point, and still, don’t remember saying it.

“No. Did I say that?”

He responded with a “never mind”.

It’s possible, we figure…but also, if it was our kitchen partner, or someone in the vicinity that “complained” it could have been a misunderstanding and us saying “I’ve got tha chicken”. We remember saying that this week during service, to indicate we were going to put the chicken in. Don’t know how we remember such a small detail…but we do.

Then he asked if we had any pain.

We just stared at him for a moment.

“This is all off the record” he said to us, in his Sri Lanken accent. “I’ve just noticed some days you move in the kitchen like you are having pain.”

So we tell him about our back, share with him brief details, but not excessive amounts, about the car accident, tell him about how one of the instructors in culinary school (one he knows because he had graduated the year before us in school) said we wouldn’t last 10 years in the kitchen. A tear came to our eye when we say “So far it’s been 7 years since the accident”

He agrees that it’s sad; he knows we love cooking, we are good at it. He loves food and cooking just as much.

We continue to talk and he tells us that we are a nice person, and friendly, but sometimes when he looks at us, he sees something…”There is something going on in there” he said to us.

All we think is “crap” and “If you only knew” and then…we’re even more sad. We’ve only been at this job for 5 weeks, we’ve tried to put our head down and work, get the job done…during service we are focused as we can be…but, it comes off as bitchy. And sometimes we bitchy.

He is far too perceptive we suppose…he references mood as we being to talk, asking about anything in our personal life, we explain to him it’s probably the back pain.

Basically he likes us working in the kitchen though; he wishes we were not leaving. He’s just concerned about our back, and also agrees that sometimes that might be why we are short with people, because of all the pain. But we also know that sometimes we are a bitch, even though we try to control that from happening.

He only knows half the story, and it’s okay. We’ll be one from there soon…and we can try again at another job, we suppose.

We discuss other problems in the kitchen, which we site, and he agrees, as communication problems. The meeting ended well, he shared stories about what he had done before culinary school. A nice guy and we are fortunate to have him as a sous chef for the next few weeks.

So, we were stressed even before meeting with Fuck Face for drinks last night, but then that took it to a whole new level.

We told James we don’t think we will ever be able to have a job, all of us, together…and we don’t know how to do about it. We need to find some online work, so we can work where people can’t see our eyes, our face….the thing that gives us all away; it’s impossible for us to hide anymore.

We’re no good with real life situations…and it’s okay, because we prefer the life we have (livesd mostly behind closed doors), if we could only make money to live not working with people…because it’s so difficult, it hurts. We get so many headaches at work these days…and our back literally feels like someone is setting it on fire on a daily basis now.

So, that’s the conclusion of our week. If we were staying at this job we’d probably get fired down the road, that’s clear now…so it’s a good thing we are moving away from this city. We also said goodbye to Special Someone on Thursday, and yesterday Fuck Face told us he loves us, after all this time, and that he always has.

It’s no wonder we drink, and amazing we don’t drink more.

No comments:

Post a Comment