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Sneakin' Out of Class
Thanksgiving is over and Christmas is on it's way--and I feel like I'm playing hookey. Why? Because even after not actively working in restaurants for almost three years I can't help but feel like I should be doing something right now, instead of having a nice cup of coffee and reading the paper. I should be getting ready to go to work another 12 hour shift, prep twice as much as the rest of the year, run twice as fast with twice the yelling. I should be getting ready to listen to the waiters whine about how all the customers are grumpy, how they all have special orders, and want them an hour ago so they can get out to shop. And the waitress wants her ticket on the rail NOW please, with all the sauce on the side and the vegetable from a different dish or of their own concoction. I should be getting ready to explain for the 30th time why chef insists on piling gaufrette towers on the plates and why they have to stay erect until the customer personally breaks them all over the table. I should be feeling like my head will burst from the hangover I had this morning because the crew stayed late last night, drinking everything and anything and swearing that this will be the last year we work through the holidays. Swearing that next year we'll actually do our holiday shopping leisurely, find out what the names of our sister's kids are, and be with our families at least once through the whole season. This is something that never leaves the heart of a true restaurant person. You get so used to it that if you're not working through the holidays you walk through your days in a kind of eerie silence. No shouting chef, no pastry disasters. No fighting for a place to park at 1 PM for the dinner shift. And a lurking suspicion that you're missing something. And in the back of your mind, tucked away behind the leftover party favors and the cobwebs, is a tiny bit of guilt that can't be shaken. I'm going to be in the dining room enjoying myself at the next banquet, instead of running my legs off or shoveling food into chafers. And the whole time I'll be peeking into the kitchen and watching the floor, feeling sorry for the poor sods who work so hard for so little at this, the most miserly of seasons. But I'm also likely to feel just a little jealous, that I'm not part of the team, but just another outsider in the way of the swinging doors. --Janet Fouts |
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