Friday, July 17, 2009
Look at that face. Really, look at it. Take your time. Look at that half-inflated leather punchbag of a face and think about all the grief and abuse that's going to come out of it, fast-flowing floods of fuck-flavored humiliation, all of it directed at you.
OK, maybe not from that actual collapsing beach-ball face, but from the ones just like it that work in crappy kitchens the world over. Noisy, flapping faces belonging to angry, inadequate cooks who think you aren't a proper chef unless you shout and swear and belch as loud as you can.
Because even though you've probably fooled yourself into thinking you can handle ridiculously long hours working on your feet in sweatshop conditions, you may not have fully considered the fact that you're also going to have to suffer an endless deluge of piss and vitriol from every one of your superiors. They're going to yell at you for not boiling water the right way, for not peeling potatoes like they do in France, for not washing the dishes with clockwise sponge strokes. In fact, they're going to shriek and bawl and cry and stamp their little feet for whatever dumb reason they like, hour after endless hour, day after day, week after week, just because they can.
So ask yourself, is getting the chance to warm up fancy food for idiot diners really worth the risk of one day turning into a self-satisfied foul-mouthed cunt like Gordon Ramsay?