eat my ass

I love Barking at my mailman

Last Friday at 8:31 PM
Interesting. So when I corrected you about my intimate knowledge of microwaves, and rather than return to the science or the culinary experience - you suggested I simply try microwaving something. You postulated that in nearly a decade working with food, getting paid minimum wage, working in a hot, slippery kitchen full of sharp things and hot things. A place where one badly placed step could seriously fuck up your life. Where a single cut corner can mean the death of dozens of people and imprisonment for yourself. A place where anything less than a 12 hour shift is considered part-time, and you dare not complain about the legality of the situation because if you don't want the job then someone else will take it tomorrow because the service industry moves at that kind of pace. A place where you don't get a comfort break every 4 hours. When there's food on order the word break doesn't exist. When there's no food on order and the kitchen needs cleaned the word break doesn't exist. When the kitchen is clean but you're not ready for the next service the word break doesn't exist. A place where the word break doesn't exist. A place where the only reason you stay is a passion for food, for creating it, forming it. A place that eventually gets so busy that you have to use microwaves. A place where we need to feed the lunch crowd within 30 minutes or they're never coming back. A place where putting together and layering a lasagne to order isn't going to cut it. That perfect crunch you had too the cheese crust, gone through osmosis in the microwave, the perfect bite to the pasta, it was tangible, the texture was so satisfying breaking through the layers with a fork -- they've been fried in the microwa

Derek Last Friday at 10:58 PM
I saw this and got worried that it was going to be something serious
read the first ten words and stopped reading it