Saturday, August 1, 2009

I already have an account, b**ch!

I am shocked at myself. I didn't know I had the ability to swear so much but a few months in the kitchen will bring that out of anyone (anyone who has it in them, that is). Hell, I think my mother-in-law would hold her own with the best of us if we left her in the kitchen for a few days. Oops, did I just say 'hell'? In written form it looks worse than it sounds. Sorry, mom!

I didn't know what I would write about today, it was pretty uneventful, but I sat down anyway. In trying to log on I accidentally hit the "create new blog" button and was immediately prompted to "create a new account." "I already have an account, b**ch!" flew out of my mouth before I realized. Jen is watching me suspiciously from the couch where she is reading her book. She has no idea what I am doing, but my swearing at the computer is not a good sign to her.

I haven't seen my in-laws in two months. My last weekend off was sometime mid-May. Mid-May, for those who don't know, was only a month after the kitchen had opened for the season. Back then I was still a well-read, well-rounded nice girl. Now I'm a foul-mouthed, boot 'n cap wearing woman who, within 2 minutes of getting out of the car and onto their property, told a story that ended with my calling someone a "lying scheming ho." My brother-in-law looked at me and said "I don't think they understand you." I really hope he's joking!

Today I worked the morning shift, unusual for me. Our breakfast cook is a firecracker so the best thing is to stay out of her way as much as possible. "It's ok, I'll just do prep all day" I thought to myself. I'd just finished making our daily soup when the sous-chef rolled in and started pulling me in all directions. Ham needed to be sliced, and oh, what about those sandwiches, and can I wash leaf lettuce? All this in between putting out lunch orders.

Off I went, from one task to another, all the while watching the clock on the wall. I love my job but I haven't had a weekend with my partner in almost 3 months, so you could understand my excitement. Everyone knew I was off to the cottage. Everyone. With 30 minutes left on my shift I am told we are now out of grilled chicken breast and a number of other items that I swear were not on the prep board earlier in the day, and can I take care of them? Blood roared in my ears and my mouth went dry. No way man. I am so out of here. Don't do this to me. Not today. I never say no to staying late and always run when Chef calls me in early, but you're not doing this to me today. I plan to be sitting on the dock at 5 pm with a Manhattan in hand, listening to two months worth of stories. Of course I wasn't about to say any of this out loud but I imagined letting go of a frighening string of profanities.

I did end up leaving, and only an hour later than planned, but near-tears angry and probably alienating a couple of colleagues. "What, she just 'f***s off?' Look at the schedule, shithead, I was supposed to be gone long ago! It took all of two hours for me to put it in a bubble and blow it all away, until my dear family asked, as I was sitting down, "How was your day?"

Oh, but I do love my job. Really.

No comments:

Post a Comment