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This is a question Restaurants, Kitchens and Bars... Oh my!

Many years ago, I went out with a chef. Kitchens are merely vice dens with food. You couldn't move for people bonking and snorting coke in the store room. And the things they did with the food...

My personal vice was chocolate mousse - I remember it being very calming in all the chaos around me. I think they put things in it.

Tell us your stories of working in kitchens, bars and the rest of the nightmare that is the catering trade.

(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 9:58)
Pages: Popular, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Cafe Rouge
A few years ago as a skint student I took a job at Cafe Rouge. The kitchen was at the top of the building, about four floors over a very dark, rat infested alley where the bins were kept. On slow days we had no excuse not to piss around and have a bit of a laugh. On one of those slow days the head chef started filling a bin (a full size garbage bin) and told me to wait in the alley below. I walked down the fire escape stairs into the alley and waited for a few minutes (It obviously took a while to fill the bin). When I heard the chef pulling the bin to the door I decided to seek some shelter, then just as I found some he tipped the enitire bin of water over the edge and onto a power box mounted on the wall ... which exploded ...
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 15:08, Reply)
Insane Maniac's waiter stories...
Being the craft whizz of the tills AND having manager's rights, I was able to fawn off the odd 'Onion Rings', 'Coke' or '16oz Steak' that my table didnt pay for onto other waiter's bills! Actually got away with that 16oz steak switching bills as I'd fawned it off onto a christmas table of 30, & they totally didnt notice!

Item switching was a fun game, as I'd regularly take the total amount of one tables bill, move around the drinks to other tables & pocket the amount at the end of the night. Then when the staff meeting turned up, the bar got bollocked for wasting so much coke, beer, cocktail mix etc. when we hadnt sold as much as the tills had told them!
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 15:03, Reply)
Dodgy Cheques
So I start my glass collecting job at the Uni bar. Things are going quite well. I've already had a couple of complimentary drinks !

I see one of the barmaids giggling - "what's up ?" I ask....
"that guy's on the 'don't serve list' cos his cheques bounce"
I laughed out loud but stopped when she showed me the list and my name was on it.

None of them knew my full name, and hence my shame, however, I declined any further offers of work from the bar. dammit - free beer lost
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 14:57, Reply)
oooh and....

A biochemistry student told me that they use congealed chicked fat to thicken the milkshakes in Maccy D's.

I have never bought one since.
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 14:56, Reply)
Silver service
I worked as a silver service waitress when I was about 16 at the local hotel. Not only were most of the chefs complete cnuts, but all the kitchen porters were all the chavvy school drop outs. The hotel owners liked to pass the establishment off as 3-star verging on the 4th, but the food preparation left a lot to be desired.

I saw them re-use vegetables and potatoes, as well as stirring in the skin that developed on soup and mayonnaise on a regular basis. Half the veg weren't prepared properly, so I'd regularly have to hide vegetables with big black bits all over them as I was serving the customers.

Unfortunately, I had to go to my school prom there. We got the cheapest menu options, and I was very careful only to eat certain parts of the meal. For dessert, we had profiteroles. I was a bit unsure as I had never seen them served in all my 2 years of working there, but my mate who was working that night assured me that they were left over from the wedding the night before.

The worst was by far the annual Christmas parties, as you had not only the self appointed 'funny guy' who took the piss out of you all night, but all the randy young men trying to look down your top and feel your arse as you were clearing their(often untouched) dinner away.

It was horrible. Never, ever, EVER again.
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 14:54, Reply)
Out of date?
The way I figure it, they have to be extra careful with expiration dates on food for fear o thigs actually getting dangerous that day after they go off, so they tend to be ok for a while.

I worked in my student bar in Birmingham, originally called The Crow Bar, but latterly and stupodly renamed 'The Edge' ('twas in Edgebaston). The NUS is the largest purchaser of beer in the UK. They get it at a great price because they buy so much, and because they buy it when it's close to it's going off date. This means student beer is cheap, but the chances of it going off are high. We used to sell it once off a lot. Didn't bother the punters and didn't bother any of us who helped ourselves either.

Oh, and my housemate worked in Maccy D's for a while. She sad that when she used to get in in the mornings she'd switch on the milkshake machine and give it a stir to just fold in the mould that had grown over night.
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 14:52, Reply)
I worked in an ice cream parlour
a few summers ago, and wasps were ALWAYS flying into the sorbet. And it always got served up WASPS OR NO WASPS.
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 14:46, Reply)
More sweet memories
16 yrs old working in the kitchen of the restaurant in a department store in North London as a Saturday job. Great place, nice people, simple food cooked by students to a passable quality, tea and cakes in the afternoon spare cakes shared out at the end of the day, pretty waitresses…and a wonderful regular customer. He was the original ‘I’m a laaaady’. At least 6’ 3” tall and dressed all in white, white size 11 high heeled shoes, white tights, or perhaps stockings (yuk), white skirt with matching jacket, white blouse, white lacy gloves and to cap it all off, a wide-brimmed soft cowboy type high-domed hat over his long black wig. Plenty of make-up and red lipstick which didn’t conceal the five o’clock shadow. Sipping tea, nibbling cakes, attracting stares and tipping well. We all took turns peeping round the kitchen door.

I later moved to the staff canteen where I worked with my best friend’s girl. She had to wear overalls and being about 8 out 10 on the curvy scale, the poor overalls became over-mosts. When she broke it off with my mate, we got very friendly in the kitchen one day, we’d always been friends anyway and I fancied her something rotten. Serving the lunches we’d been squeezing past each other in a very suggestive way and I couldn’t hide my ardour. After lunch, we were cleaning up, I was cleaning the counters and she was down on her knees wiping shelves, somehow the poppers on her overall had come undone…need I go on?
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 14:25, Reply)
One last thing.
A friend of mine worked behind the bar in the Student Union at Liverpool Uni. At the time, they had the shower head soft drink dispensers.

Well, they used to charge 80p for a half of the syrup based drinks like pepsi, and 30p for a splash (vodka's and cokes, etc)

He found out that if you only put through the alcohol, it was nigh on impossible to check the syrup levels as they lasted about 3 months anyway.

So, he managed to get me a couple of Wednesday nights behind the bar, and we had this little scam going. Charge for the spirits and mixer, spirit get rung into the till only mixer moneys go in our tip jar. Took some quick-ish adding up behind the bar but that wasn't hard. Me and him were on one of the bars on our own, meaning we just split the tips 50/50.

1st night, we made £265 in tips. He goes off to Macro the next day, buys a box of the pepsi syrup (80% of what we sold was pepsi) and puts this into the cellar. Cost him about £14. Sowe had made £130 each, spent £7 covering our tracks. Hmm.

We did this a few more times, making about the same kind of money every time. To be honest, we'd put most of the money back behind the bar after hours, but as a student on £25 a week, the extra £70 a shift was brilliant. We both left, and the tradition was passed on.
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 14:22, Reply)
Boiled Breasts
I used to be the manageress of a restaurant, and I had a gaggle of giggling chavvy teens as my waiting staff. Hey, they're cheap.

We did a lot of buffets, it being a hotel, for wedding receptions and suchlike. We used to serve the food from chafin tins, which are long steel trays full of boiling water, heated by little parrafin lamps, and with the trays of food perched on top, being kept merrily warm, with my chavtastic slaves stirring the chilli or whatever disinterestedly and flopping it on the partygoers plates.

Now, being a posh hotel and all we had some very lavish IN and OUT doors which, being the manager, I had to use accordingly. I'm glad I did, because when clearing up from a buffet one evening I hear a THUD, a sound like someone had dropped a dustbin lid, and a high pitched squeal.

Turns out that 'Nikki', a large chav with a ginger ponytail on the top of her head, had picked up a chafin tin full of boiling water and taken it in the OUT door to empty in the sink. Trouble is an equally dumb (but door-sign-rule-adhering) waitress had come OUT at the same time. Nikki had poured scalding water over her chest.

The sight of a big ginger girl pulling off her now see through white blouse and sticking her bright red glowing boobs under the pot washer's cold tap whilst squealing like someone trod on Mickey Mouse is permanently etched into my memory (and her mammaries).
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 14:21, Reply)
Student days
I used to work in the Queens in Liverpool, right near the crown court. It was a dive, but it sold cheap food and cheap beer, so it was very popular. Also, we'd have the joys of everyone from the courts coming in, ranging from very camp Lawyers (one especially who offered £100 to anyone behind the bar to s*ck him off in the loo) to the classic Scouser in a tracksuit having just been sent down.

Anyhow, there were many stories that could be told, but a couple stick in my mind.

1) After one shift on Paddy's Night, we were all going out into town. If you have ever been to Liverpool on Paddys, you know how busy it is. It ends up that the only place we could get in was a bar we went to every night around the corner, but they had a private party so would we mind serving ourselves. Not a problem. Much Guiness and Dark rum later, 8 of us decide to crash back at the pub.

At the time I had a girlfriend at home; one of the barmaids had a boyfriend at home. 2 randy students, big pub. Alcohol fuelled. Ahem.

Next morning, woke up behind the bar with an empty bottle of champagne, 2 glasses, a naked lady and a grin on my face. This was until my boss runs into the bar, shouts "everyone up, district manager is here, get upstairs into the flat..."

We all dart upstairs, 8 semi-naked people all suddenly very coincious of not being fully dressed in front of our co-workers, all hiding in the kitchen of our bosses flat while she's downstairs telling the area manager that we all deserve pay rises!! Brilliant.

2) Had one customer that was a complete twat. Came in every thursday at 204pm, we stop serving food at 2pm. Then moans, rings our area manager who plays golf with him and gets him to re-open the kitchen. One time he turns up with about 13 mates, all sit down, order, eat, and then the final part, he orders the bill. I walk over, and we had one of the 1st portable signiture machines. He asks were he write the tip, and he scrawls something. I ask to check it, and the dozy f*cker has put a tip of £250 down. I hand it back and say "Would you like to check this sir before I confirm the transaction?"

"No, I'm sure I did it right, it's a simple machine little boy." Paid for the entire staff to get wankered on the next weekend!!
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 14:10, Reply)
Darth Munki
I agree

The chefs at all the pubs I have ever worked in (on the bar) have been horrible people
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 13:58, Reply)
All Chefs are cunts. FACT!

(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 13:57, Reply)
It's long, skip if you want - no apologies
Colonel, thanks for reminding me of some of the ‘characters’ at the Toby Grill:

Mark was our dim pot-washer. He actually said his ambition was to be a glass-collector at Yates’, not sure if he ever made it that far. He was about 5’ 2” and 17 years old, to get a good mental picture of him, imagine morphing the face of a mongoloid child onto a wombat. While working at the place he lost his virginity to a 22 yr old single mum who was at least 5’ 8” tall and very ugly, he thought she loved him. The look of pure delight on Mark’s face as the resident Friday night DJ played ‘Like a virgin’ for him to celebrate his popped cherry was heart-rending. Mark used to bike to work.

‘Dippy’ was a chef – in the loosest possible sense of the word. His nickname came from his not inconsiderable reputation as a pickpocket and thief. Once, he nicked Mark’s bike from outside the kitchen while he was working. Next day, poor Mark had to borrow his sister’s bike to get to work. Dippy nicked it, Mark never twigged, we all knew.

Pat the manageress was like something out of Coronation St. She might have been late 30s but first thing in the morning she looked a rough 65. She took up with the 22 yr old deputy manager who was a cnut of the highest calibre. They both ‘lived in’ and had free meals/drinks, so had more money than sense, or manners, or style. He had an MR2 and used to go (from York) to Manchester for a take-away curry. After a while, he started hitting her, she’d come down in sunglasses and tons of make-up, he’d come down with a smirk.

My least favourite customer was Mr Bastard. He’d come with his wife regularly every Friday night for a slap-up meal of pre-packaged dross. Each time, when he bought his first round from the bar in the restaurant, he’d say “Would you like one yourself Che?”, to which the standard answer would be “Thank you very much Mr Bastard, I’ll take for it now and have it later.” Fast-forward to the Bastards’ anniversary or some such. They arrived with about six friends and sat in the pre-food lounge area. At which point Mr Bastard turned towards me at the bar and snapped his fingers – yes, he actually snapped his fingers, then beckoned me over. I had to go over, take his drinks order and then carry the drinks back over for him. He had paid for this butler-like service with a few halves of lager. So, what was this snobby, arsehole of man in real life? He collected money from slot machines.

My favourite customers were a couple that lived nearby and were friends of Pat. They came in one night with a friend of theirs whose wife had just left him. They talked to him all night and he left around 11.15. There was a noise outside and the couple went out to see what it was. Their friend had gone outside, sat down against his van, stuck his shotgun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. We all got home late that night.

To end on a happier note, we had a ‘back room’ with no bar that could be let out to private parties. A regular booking was for the Morris Minor Owners’ Club. I found out one of the favourite pastimes for this group was ‘guess the part’. They’d pass round a black velvet bag with a part from a Morris Minor in it, each member would feel inside the bag without looking and write down what they thought it was. There were ten rounds…wild nights.
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 13:53, Reply)
Food hall
When I was 15, I used to work in the food hall of a well known but old fashioned department store (rhymes with Bittlewoods). My main function was to work on the till - wearing a trés chic and stylish uniform consisting of a dark brown nylon skirt, matching tabard (apron) and an orange polyester blouse tied at the neck with a jaunty brown nylon cravat. All this beauty was topped off with a brown hat, similar to that worn by American GIs during WWII.

I didn't mind working on the tills - I was quite fast and was always very polite to the customers (mostly old dears buying biscuits and cat litter) but I hated it when my boss ("Mike") asked me to cover the deli counter. People would come and ask for something like "a pound of mature cheddar" - well, having had no training, and being 15 years old, I had no idea what a pound of mature cheddar looked like. I used to slice off a chunk of cheese with my cheese wire, weigh it, realise it wasn't big enough, slice off another bit, add that into the scales, still not enough etc until the poor old lady would be sent off with a pounds worth of cheese in uneven shaped slivers.

The best bit was being asked to cover pick'n'mix. If any of the sweets were running low, you had to go to the stock room and fetch more. They used to keep the sweets in big bin-bag sized sacks. My faves at the time were chocolate brazil nuts and one memorable day, I must have visited the stock room at least 10 times on the pretence of replenishing something, but stuffing my face with handfuls of chocolate brazil nuts each time.

I spent the next 24 hours vomiting a chocolate fountain whilst my mother shrieked "Serves you right for stealing!" Doncha just love the Catholic guilt. Still can't face brazil nuts either.
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 13:49, Reply)
When I worked in McDonalds in Sydney, one of the chefs had a pet cockroach called Nuggets.
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 13:46, Reply)
Not me but a Chinese guy at work who also worked part time at KFC. I asked him what it was like and all he said was; "NEVER have the gravy!" When I found out why it almost put me off KFC. Not quite though, I'm a fat bastard.
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 13:41, Reply)
Towel Whippin' Good!
Used to work in a great restaurant as a Kitchen Porter (washer upper and general skivvy)

The problem with this place was that the electrics used to be a bit dodgey and the circuit breaker would trip if it got too hot, which was usually every bloody day! Sometimes this thing would switch itself off after about 10 seconds of being back on so I spent a lot of time fiddling with this damned switch when on day it decided to electrocute me with a fuck off huge blue spark. Needless to this was quite painful and I got a nice burn on my finger. The restarant plunged into darkness so everyone had to have candles on there tables and we had to cook everything on gas. I still had to finish my shift though!

Although I nearly died there I still loved it. The waitresses were easy to pull students up for a good time and boy did we have some good times!

The funniest thing was whipping people with my tea-towel o' death(tm). I gave the chef a lashing every time he bought over a burnt pot and drew blood on several occasions, although I did get whipped a fair few times myself... To settle the score me the other KP and I went to the back yard and had a towel whipping contest against the 2 chefs until either chef's or KP's started crying. Unfortunately no one cried and the whipping went on for a long time.

Fuck did that hurt!

Even though be whipped the shit out of each other we still were good mates used to stay behind after closing and get wasted, do drugs and generally had a laugh. The restaraunt is closed down now though


Tip of the week!

To get extra pain in your towel-flick make sure the end of the tea towel you are hitting your gimp with is nice and soaking wet, garaunteed to draw blood if it touches bare skin!
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 13:40, Reply)
Don't ever go to the Mac Donalds
in Brixton my brothers mate works there and you dont want to know the horrible stuff that goes on.
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 13:38, Reply)
McVegetarian Anyone?
When I was an impoverished college student in Bristol I had the misfortune of working part-time in McDonalds. It was the most foul and physically and mentally exhausting job I have ever had. I witnessed many a revolting "extra" going in the burgers, but as I wasn't involved in that (and because I'm sure there will be at least a hundred other responses to this question admitting such wrong-doings) my story is somewhat cleaner.

On a particularly busy Saturday afternoon, while being shouted at to do at least 10 things at once, a manager walked up to me wielding a Big Mac and asking me what the hell I thought I was doing. Allegedly a customer had returned the burger complaining that there was no meat in it, but I protested and convinced the manager that the customer must have pulled the meat out to try it on.

Truth be told, I realised that I was so knackered I must have made a whole tray load of Big Macs complete with bun, lettuce, onion, pickles, special sauce, but no burgers.

The best part is that because all but one of them went through the drive-thru I got away with it! I would have loved to see the expressions on the poor driver's faces as they tucked in while already on the M5...

Apologies for lack of meaty length etc...
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 13:28, Reply)
Mike Fishcake
I just read your post on the "Best" page for "I hurt my rude bits" and fainted at my desk. Although I may one day have to face the horrors of childbirth, I am now sitting here (cross legged) thanking my lucky stars that I don't have a winkie for someone to shove things up.
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 13:26, Reply)
Extra protein
As a callow youth I worked in various pub kitchens as a combined kitchen porter/sous chef/waiter/dogsbody.

One particularly busy day it was all hands to the pump as we were short-staffed. An order for a salad came in so I set to washing the ingredients and preparing it. Got it plated up and delivered to the hippy sat at the table.

I was accosted by the same hippy a few moments later, who motioned me to move closer so he could whisper "There's a little problem with my food. I wouldn't mind but I'm a vegetarian."

He moved aside a lettuce leaf and there was a live worm wriggling around on his plate. He was a cool guy and could see we were very busy and he didn't mind getting the same salad again so long as I put the worm outside in one of the flowerbeds.
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 13:17, Reply)
never shake hands with a comedian
During the early nineties, to assist funding the lavish lifestyle i had acquired at university whilst studying what used to be called 'Fine Art' (is called pretentious shite these days) i acquired a job as grillslave in a tex-mex restaurant.

During pauses in service, the kitchen team would decant to a table thoughtfully provided by the management. said table was next to the broom cupboard sized, and cardboard walled gents pissoir.

so between nipping out to the storeyard for a quick herbal, our other entertainment consisted of checking out the birds walking past to their bogs, and loudly casting doubt over the functionality of the manhood of any male customers we had taken a dislike to....no-one ever complained;

"Excuse me Ms Manager, your chefs said i've got a needledick and sit down to pee and now i want to cry"

.......it was never going to happen :-)

so, to the point..

Greg Proops, merkin 'improvisational' comedian called in for munchies early one evening before he was to do his turn at a local comedy night - the local venue often sent performers to us for grub, we fed their doormen free too, in exchange we got free entry to gigs and after hours drinkies - lovely!

Mr Proops after a few libations needed to drain his lizard, timing it with one of our sit down breaks. "Hi Greg!" we all chorus as he approaches, "I think you're much funnier than that John Sessions" one of the preps tells him.

Proopsy decides to ignore us all, and with chin pointing to the ceiling, marches past to get to the pissoir.

Feeling affronted and a bit baity 'cos of the snub - we'd cooked his dinner, been polite to the fucker - a chorus of catcalls started directed at Mr Proops, about four feet away behind a very flimsy wall.

"That was a big splash Greg!", "Anything more than two shakes is a wank Greg!" and other juvenile taunts i forget.

Anyhow, he's in and out of there real quick, and still with nose in the air, and a walk like he's got a broom up his arse he stomps back to the bar area serenaded by "Seeya Mr Poops".

He didnt wash his hands neither.

no apologies for length, its the heat y'know

lurker no more
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 13:05, Reply)
thong song
I once worked behind the bar in a popular students pub...

until the boss had the great idea that when the 'thong song' (by sisquo) came on, all the bar girls were to drop their trousers to reveal the red thongs that he had already purchased for us.

3 girls walked out that night, and got new bargirl jobs straight away in the competitors pub where the landlord was loverly and not once asked to see our thongs!!
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 12:54, Reply)

Well I'm not sure if it really counts as 'catering' [it does on my CV] but I worked in a cinema for three and a half years that used to sell out of date sweets, stale popcorn and extremely watered down cola. It wasn't for lack of protesting on the part of my colleagues and I. The manageress just didn't possess a single moral fibre.

Anyway, many's the long Sunday that we would pick up tablemats [an unusual thing to find, even in such an unusual cinema] and play 'Mars Bar Tennis' until the out of date chocolate bar in question was so bent out of shape that it would never sell. It was all about the Karmic realignment rather than the fun of playing tennis at work, of course.

We also discovered that by sandwiching salty popcorn between two weird [and unnervingly moorish] crinkle-cut bacon crisps [called Krinklz no less] it was possible to achieve a flavour and texture remarkably similar to fish fingers. Sadly, about a month or so before I left, the Krinklz factory burnt down, so our fish finger related fun was scuppered.

Don't get me started on the ice cream room.
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 12:38, Reply)
Lurch and Mr. Urine
7 or 8 years ago I worked for a few months at Bristol airport in the shop, behind the bar & occasionally in the restaurant. The words "Go up to the restaurant and see if they need any help" used to send shivers down my spine as I could end up portering.

'Portering' is washing up on an industrial scale. It involves working in a cramped, windowless, tiled, hot, smelly, steamy little room. There is a constant flow of dirty plates & kitchen equipment being wheeled in & its your job to hose off all the congealed greasy stuck-on lumps & then stack it in the giant autoclave of a dishwasher for it to be blasted clean by pressurised steam. Opening the bastard once the cycle was done filled the room with vile smelling steam which permeated your clothes & skin and made you a sweaty smelly little kitchen monkey.

Effectively it was like working in Satan’s sauna, it's hot, sweaty, filthy work. Due to this the only people who do the job on a long-term basis are unemployable mentalists and Bristol airport had hired two of the finest unemployable mentalists minimum wage could buy, 'Lurch' and 'Mr. Urine'.

I never knew Lurch's real name but he was a dead ringer in terms of appearance & mental activity for the butler from "The Addams Family", or perhaps the guy from the remake of "Dawn of the Dead" who turned into a zombie & had to be shot by Ving Rhames.

Mr. Urine was actually called Mr. Urine (or perhaps 'Uren', but that’s not the point) and he was a FOUL little man with a greasy mop of hair, filthy beard, little piggy eyes & thick glasses.

One day I was told to go up to catering & see if they needed any help portering. I approached the door with apprehension & looked in through the little round window. Lurch was furtively sniffing his fingers and Mr. Urine had scooped a finger of cold, congealed fatty nastiness from one of the dirty pans. He looked up, made eye contact with me and pushed it in his rancid mouth.

I reported back to the manager that they didn't need help.
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 12:31, Reply)
When I was 14...
... I had a job in the washing up bit of the kitchen at the R*****ffe Hotel, Paignton. Anyhoo anyone who has been lucky enough to get a job in the dizzy heights of 'automated dishwashing maintenance' will know that this job entails loading crate after crate of dishes/cutlery into a huge dishwasher, burning your hands considerably, getting them covered in shit...then doing it again and again for 6 hours until you've spilt enough shit on your shoes to make a hush puppy cry.
And you have to talk to dickhead silver service waiters.

Luckily, through the tedium...i made a friend...though i forget his name. I was dutifuly informed however, that he was mentally unstable...and obsessed with jason donovan and kylie minogues wedding in neighbours. He would grunt things under his breath and never really talk to me except to call the head waiter a 'cunt'...i would laugh...if only to avoid death.

He then one day proceeded to (in the middle of a rediculously busy shift) literally scream the alphabet at every member of kitchen staff from the washing up section which was raised above the rest of the kitchen like a stage. He looked like a little mental sesame street hitler.
Thenlater on one of the old spanish waiters whispered in my ear that he wanted me to 'lick his dick'.

This was the day that i quit (while still in my two week 'trial' period) and vowed never to work with food ever again.
or mental people.
or spaniards.

apologies for length!
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 12:17, Reply)
Having dropped out on Uni, I temped for several months making a well-known hair dye and instant custard powder.

The hair dye turned my fingernails black - I also had to ensure the correct pH by adding acid. I'm glad I studied chemistry. Actually, I studied French - don't ever use hair dye.

And don't ever use instant custard powder. I made it using what was basically a large concrete mixer - and the number of fingernails, bits of skin, hair, etc that went into it makes me queasy thinking of it...
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 12:14, Reply)
Working in a posh bar in Nottingham
means that I get to serve pretentious wankers all the time.

How hard is it to say 'please'??

One fine summer's day the pissed-up winner of the UK-indoor-dickhead-championships swaggers to the bar shouting through a lot of customers who have been waiting longer.

to shut him up; "what can I get you, paul?"

the most ridiculous over blown order involving running around the building to find dom perignon, extra bottles of gin, black sambuca, slimline tonic water, cocktails, crushed ice, and so on.

"take a seat, i'll pop it over for you"

tell the waitress, here's such and such, blah blah, and three gin and tonics, *this one is for paul*...

i'd dipped my sweaty hairy nuts into his drink

simple, but effective
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 12:06, Reply)
Would you like clips with that?
I bought a cheese-filled bap from a sandwichery (now defunct) in Sheffield and was mildly alarmed by a smear of blood on the white paper bag. However, being a teenager, and insensate with hunger, I opened it regardless and tucked in.

Whereupon I found three fingernail clippings inside my sandwich. It was lovely white bread with grated red Leicester, so I pulled the clipping from my teeth and from the bap before eating the whole thing. Delicious.

Who cares if my steak's dropped or whether there's jis in my burger? As long as it's cooked, the heat'll kill any bugs. My mother's cooking has preapred me for anything.
(, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 12:04, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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