Just clocked out of my final shift in a kitchen
So I wanted to share a few words.
I haven't been at this for as long as a lot of you guys, but it was an affecting experience, all 3 years of it. It also fucking sucked.
But it was all good. The whole thing. That kitchen got me through two of the biggest heartbreaks of my life, it was home when home was hard to be at, it was support when I had none, it was recognition when I felt underappreciated, it was being seen when I felt invisible.
It was all good, all of it. Even the shitty parts.
I remember all the times where I was scrubbing fucking crusted raw chicken off the front of a steel drawer. Or squeegeeing the same huge walk-in for the umpteenth time in one day. Or transferring 600 pounds of raw tenders into pans, 20lbs at a time. Or burning myself from back splashing oil. All of it thinking, "How many more times do I have to do this? How much longer do I have to do this?"
I don't regret any of it, and it's the kind of stupid bullshit that made me the worker that I am. I don't think that I'll ever feel this way about a job ever again, I don't think any other kind of workplace can give you that sense of community. The kitchen is rarified air, and it's brutal, and it feels like you'll never escape. But it's also home, and I'm going to miss the mariachi music, and gossiping with the front of house, and the way the Latinos say my name, and the way Chef would thank me and cuss me out in the same lecture.
I'm simultaneously heartbroken and I feel full.
Onto the next adventure.