For three awful months, I worked at a touristy restaurant by the sea, not far from Golden Gate Park.
My interview for the position of food runner (a.k.a. all-purpose kitchen bitch) was quite brief. It was clear they were in need of any warm body possible to fill the role, because the restaurant was dangerously understaffed. I was also desperate for a job, so I guess we both won.
During the interview, the manager emphasized giving them two weeks notice before I quit. I realize the industry is notorious for high staff turnover, but the way he said it — and amount of time spent on the subject — should have been a red flag.
But I took the job.
On the first day, I learned a lot about working in a restaurant of this kind. First off, there is so much yelling and swearing, mainly coming from an aggravated chef who has worked 12 hours straight.
The chef in charge of our kitchen was named Chef Saul, and he was the angriest man I’ve ever met.
I even witnessed Chef Saul reduce a prep cook to tears.
Chef Saul hated me, and perhaps he was right to. I had no idea what I was doing. I would screw things up all the time.
I tried to stay under his radar as much as possible, which was impossible, because when I feel stressed, I become very clumsy on the scale of a Buster Keaton movie, dropping plates of salmon on the ground or knocking a flight of champagne on a waiter’s head like in an old slapstick routine.
To this day, I still remember that he referred to me as “sub-aboriginal” when he thought I was out of earshot, which is probably one of the meanest thing I’ve ever been called, and I’ve been called many various colorful words.
Much like in prison, you have to make friends with anyone you can to maintain a semblance of sanity. I buddied up with the busboys, who were mostly from El Salvador. Nice guys.
One month into my tenure, the manager was fired after being discovered in the walk-in freezer doing something unsavory with avocados. What he was, doing I will not get into. But I’ll draw it, though.
Don’t think for a minute that those avocados got thrown away! I know for a fact that they were reused for the Sunday-brunch omelette station. Avocados are expensive.
Our new manager, Collin, was a pure-bred San Francisco bro, intolerable in many ways. Another important thing you will learn when you work in restaurants is how to tolerate assholes.
Collin hit maximum doucheage when a 5K running marathon ended outside the restaurant. All these female customers who had participated in the race descended the stairs, limping and sore from the race.
Probably the craziest event I ever witnessed during my time at the restaurant was the day a homeless man caught a seagull in a cage. At first it wasn’t clear what his intentions were with the bird—whatever it was probably wasn’t good.
Of course, bystanders found the whole situation disturbing, so the police were called, and the seagull was eventually released, traumatized from his experience.
After three months, I had my fill of the restaurant industry. I applied for a job as a lifeguard at a public pool.
Did I put my two weeks in before I quit? Hell no! I stopped showing up like every other drifter who passes through the swinging doors of a kitchen.
Of course, it was wrong, and yes, you should always put in at least two-weeks notice before you quit a job, but what you need to understand is that I really wanted to drink beer on a hill rather then getting yelled at by an irate chef.
I feel everyone gets to do that at least once in their working career.
Although working as a lifeguard at a public pool would present its own challenges.
Hey! The Bold Italic recently launched a podcast, This Is Your Life in Silicon Valley. Check out the full season or listen to the episode below featuring Eileen Rinaldi, CEO/founder of Ritual Coffee. More coming soon, so stay tuned!
