About a decade ago I walked in to my second day working at a chain pub that shall remain nameless (after having worked 14hrs the previous day, but being a badass I went back). I took a looksie at the task rota and it says I’m on the floor, which means I get to collect glasses, take food out etc. Things are going well, I’m feeling energetic and motivated and, I’m powering on, doing the job I’m supposed to be doing. Until someone fucks up an order.
Now I have to descend into that hellish dungeon called the kitchen. I push open the door and am met by a blistering cloud of hot air and a short, squat, troll-like scottish woman with a permanent scowl etched on her face. The “head chef” or, to the rest of us, “chief microwave operator”. I’d worked with head chefs before and they have a big reponsibility and, therefore, a lot of stress to deal with. That doesn’t excuse the fact that all of the ones I had worked with were complete arseholes to everyone. At least at work they were. I’m guessing the horns and whiplash tongues came with the apron and hairnets.
I knew instantly that this was not going to go well…
“theres been a problem with an order”
“THE ONLY REASON THERES A PROBLEM IS COZ YOU STUPID CUNTS CANT OPERATE THE TILLS CORRECTLY….”
A few minutes and a few choice words later, I roll back upstairs whistling. She looks like a tomato about to pop. Chuckling quietly to myself, I enter the lift room where all the food is sent, only to find I’ve been beaten there by the shift manager, D. This is the first time I’d worked with her and, being the trusting type that I am, I’d decided from her behaviour and mannerisms that she was fairly easy going. So i opened my big mouth and said
“that woman down there’s a bit of a dragon ain’t she!”
At this point I noticed a subtle yet defining change in her demeanour. She shifted her balance in the way some of the guys I trained with used to, right before they bounced me off the walls of the dojo. Her expression melted away as her face hardened, eyes glinty and icy with thinly veiled hostility. All of this took place in the split second gap between my statement and her reply. By then I already knew I’d made a grave error.
“thats my mum you’re talkin about….”