While I'm waiting to move into my new home, new kitchen; I dug up some stored away stories of mine. This one is from a particularly frustrating day from some time ago... enjoy!
I stormed from the prep table to the large steel refrigerator. I clasped the handle and pulled back against the suction as a blast of cold air hit my face. I stepped in and shut the door behind me.
I was alone. .
I leaned against the wall; craving a second of nothing.
What’s that smell?
I browsed the shelves - The Epoisses was left unwrapped; or maybe it was the fermenting ducks.
My attention brought me to a jar of mayonnaise. I stared it down
Is this where my frustration has brought me? Swearing at a container of whipped eggs. I had multiple directions coming from a variety of mouths and authority. One cook demands you lay parchment down on the sheet tray but the other forbids it. Someone want’s the carrot cut on a bias while the other want’s cubes.
...& being the youngest newbie really doesn't help either. When something goes wrong (a container misplaced or anonymously labeled) I’m the first suspect. It sucks...
I remember a friend of mine describing this feeling as a “roller coaster”. A churning almost queasy feeling in the heart of your stomach that brings you from “ I love my job” to “I hate everything”. It toys with you physically and mentally. By the end of your shift you’ve exhausted yourself.
What’s that sound?
My stomach was speaking to me. “Feed Me!”, it cried out.
I leaned over to a jar of pickled green beans. I drew one out as if it were a piece of licorice. I bit in as the sour juices made my lips pucker.
I searched for something simpler.
I picked one from the tub and popped just one in my mouth.
I turned around and pushed against the door. Walking back to the prep area, slowly but surely returning to reality.
“Oh, wait.” - I said out loud
I needed the mayonnaise.