The delights of a Commercial Kitchen
At the tender age of 14 I was 'encouraged' by my Dad to go and get a weekend job. So out I went and ended up in the plum-job of potwasher for a rather well known chain of pub/restaurants. And 'lo, my lazy Sundays of playing sensible soccer on the Amiga were replaced by endless piles of shitty plates (which are hotter than the sun when coming out of the machine) and sinks full of pans bigger than me with unspeakable substances burnt onto them.

The particular 'highlight' of this evious position is clearing out the grease-trap. For those who don't know, it's a machine that siphons off all the crud, grease and other foul material that goes down the plug-holes, and in a commercial kitchen thats a lot believe me. Those unfortunates who are familiar with this metal box of satan will know that the stench from this machine when opened is like nothing you have ever experienced...and i had to scoop out all the solid matter from within the evil soup, then get rid of all the rest of the shite that's in there. And it is impossible to not get it ALL over you...thus resulting in me performing my dubious duty wearing a giant bin bag and smelling like stig o the dump at school on Monday morning. And the bugger had a rather annoying habit of overflowing at apparently random intervals, spilling its foul contents all over the floor - yummy!

...all for the princely sum of £3 an hour. Still, it's better than working at MaccyD's.

I stuck with it and worked my way 'up' to full blown cook and ended up back there most holidays all the way through 6th form and uni, and had a great time, until my tenure was abruptly ended when my nobhead of a line menager blew half my face off one night, but that's a story for another QOTW...

Apologies, as always...
( RR I love you ... in a way, Wed 22 Feb 2006, 14:58, Reply)