mayo donut and exercises in passive agressiveness
I worked twelve hours on Easter this year, but it felt like roughly 12 years after all my buddies left for the night.
Cam brought donuts in for the staff, which was nice. Some of these donuts looked like filled donuts but were not filled, so one of them got filled with mayo and then some angel-faced deviant from the front of the house gave it to a bartender. He ate the whole thing and then peaked his head into the kitchen... "Was there something weird about that donut?"
An unnamed person-in-charge told Shady to keep the meat steamwell at 100 degrees. For those of you who may not know, 40-135 degrees is the perfect temperature for breeding bacteria, also known as the Danger Zone®. Luckily Shady doesn't do stupid shit even if she's told to.
In other passive aggressive news, I've had enough of finding shit without labels and dates.
(Okay, so I called Sassy out with this one. Sorry, Sassy. Label your shit xoxo)
We were told by our newest coworker that he was warned in his interview with Cam about a foul-mouthed girl who might make him uncomfortable, so he needs to be okay with kitchen talk. So now we've been trying to figure out which one of us he was talking about.
Happy day after Easter nerds
-Otto
Cam brought donuts in for the staff, which was nice. Some of these donuts looked like filled donuts but were not filled, so one of them got filled with mayo and then some angel-faced deviant from the front of the house gave it to a bartender. He ate the whole thing and then peaked his head into the kitchen... "Was there something weird about that donut?"
An unnamed person-in-charge told Shady to keep the meat steamwell at 100 degrees. For those of you who may not know, 40-135 degrees is the perfect temperature for breeding bacteria, also known as the Danger Zone®. Luckily Shady doesn't do stupid shit even if she's told to.
In other passive aggressive news, I've had enough of finding shit without labels and dates.
(Okay, so I called Sassy out with this one. Sorry, Sassy. Label your shit xoxo)
We were told by our newest coworker that he was warned in his interview with Cam about a foul-mouthed girl who might make him uncomfortable, so he needs to be okay with kitchen talk. So now we've been trying to figure out which one of us he was talking about.
Happy day after Easter nerds
-Otto
Developing talent
Cam changed his job on Facebook to "Owner & Talent development".
Sassy & Shady are my good buddies at work. We are officially trauma bonded.
Shady, to Sassy: "How do you feel about the fact you had no talent before Cam developed you?"
Sassy & Shady are my good buddies at work. We are officially trauma bonded.
Shady, to Sassy: "How do you feel about the fact you had no talent before Cam developed you?"
quotable
Imagine this:
You're a cook in a southern capital city. You're in your thirties now and every day is building evidence that you no longer have patience for a dying, underpaid industry. The only thing you enjoy about cooking is hanging out with felons and teaching baby cooks how to do basic tasks.
One of your bosses, Cam, had sent out an email that morning about quality checks. "This CANNOT happen again," he says about a Cuban that was sent back. For it had been microwaved, according to this charming customer who threw his sandwich in its three pound boat at our General Manager, Aurora. We could have told this sentient teratoma that we do not possess a microwave, but generally it's best to avoid explaining simple things to people who explode over sandwiches and move them along as fast as you can.
This night, Cam is working the saute station and you are expo at the window. He serves you an order of dumplings that is so burnt it may have actually been on fire seconds before. You look at it. The server looks at it. You and server stare at each other for several seconds. The world stops. How bad will it be if you call him on this? Do you care if he gets mad at you? That answer, to your own detriment, is usually no.
Finally, you speak up. "I can't serve this."
"Oh, is it ccnsjxh....fjiejfij....isdjk....dkkdc....?" he mumbles as he walks away from you. You watch him as he does not begin new dumplings. About forty-five seconds pass and you realize you are going to have to make these yourself, because Cam is focused on the single ticket following the dumplings. You take the still-sizzling pan and put more oil in it, and drop the dumplings in. Cam then says, "Oh, I think that's why these are always getting screwed up. People are using cold pans."
I'm going to go ahead and end the scene right there and reinsert myself into this story. Every once in a while, someone will say something so outrageously illogical on several levels to me that I just know I'm going to remember it until I die. That method I learned today using conic shells to find the area of a solid rotating around an axis (or whatever the fuck)? Gone now, replaced with that quote. Thanks, Cam.
-Otto
You're a cook in a southern capital city. You're in your thirties now and every day is building evidence that you no longer have patience for a dying, underpaid industry. The only thing you enjoy about cooking is hanging out with felons and teaching baby cooks how to do basic tasks.
One of your bosses, Cam, had sent out an email that morning about quality checks. "This CANNOT happen again," he says about a Cuban that was sent back. For it had been microwaved, according to this charming customer who threw his sandwich in its three pound boat at our General Manager, Aurora. We could have told this sentient teratoma that we do not possess a microwave, but generally it's best to avoid explaining simple things to people who explode over sandwiches and move them along as fast as you can.
This night, Cam is working the saute station and you are expo at the window. He serves you an order of dumplings that is so burnt it may have actually been on fire seconds before. You look at it. The server looks at it. You and server stare at each other for several seconds. The world stops. How bad will it be if you call him on this? Do you care if he gets mad at you? That answer, to your own detriment, is usually no.
Finally, you speak up. "I can't serve this."
"Oh, is it ccnsjxh....fjiejfij....isdjk....dkkdc....?" he mumbles as he walks away from you. You watch him as he does not begin new dumplings. About forty-five seconds pass and you realize you are going to have to make these yourself, because Cam is focused on the single ticket following the dumplings. You take the still-sizzling pan and put more oil in it, and drop the dumplings in. Cam then says, "Oh, I think that's why these are always getting screwed up. People are using cold pans."
I'm going to go ahead and end the scene right there and reinsert myself into this story. Every once in a while, someone will say something so outrageously illogical on several levels to me that I just know I'm going to remember it until I die. That method I learned today using conic shells to find the area of a solid rotating around an axis (or whatever the fuck)? Gone now, replaced with that quote. Thanks, Cam.
-Otto
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