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Book of Jobs Part 1


by Chris Auman

As high school graduation neared, so did summer, and so did college. I realized—or was made to realize by certain parental indicators—that working fifteen to twenty hours a week at the drug store and mowing the occassional lawn just wasn’t going to cut it anymore (pun inteneded, I suppose). So a month or two before graduation, I entered into what would be a long love/hate (but mostly hate) relationship with the restaurant industry. Once I took this fateful first step, it would lead down a slippery slope of culinary and hospitalty work that would give me the opportunity to (in no particular order) wash dishes, prep food, work a grill, sauté, bake, make pizzas, bus tables, scrub pots, wait tables, manage, cashier, make sandwiches, boil live lobsters, sweep floors, mop floors and (my favorite) haul stinking, leaking, impossibly heavy bags of garbage to stinky, leaking, impossibly heavy dumpsters. I would also take phone orders, mix drinks, do deliveries, pack food, scrape pans, laugh, cry, sweat, bleed, chain smoke, vomit, (did I say cry?), throw my back out, get food poisoning, meet some very ‘interesting’ people, cut off small parts of my fingers, burn large sections of my skin and deep fat fry all kinds of things including a ballpoint pen that flew out of my shirt pocket and plunged into a fryer full of 450 degree oil, landing just out of reach of the longest set of tongs available. These tales of woe shall be saved for the next issue.

foodservice is your future

Dishwashwer >>

Originally published in RW#22, 2014

RW #22


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