Chef life

So a about a month ago I saw a couple of posts from women who were interested in becoming a chef. I just finished a 10 hour shift in the job and won't hold back in describing what it's really like warts and all.

So you run from the minute you start until the minute you knock off which is never at the time your roster says. You put up with lazy demanding front of house staff which somehow forget that we can't speed up the cooking time during rush hour(s). It's hot all the time even if it's pissing down rain outside and your trapped in a white coat which is buttoned right up to your chin and doesn't breathe and baggy chequered pants on that'll give mc hammer a run for his money.

When your rushing around like you do all day, you find sweat dripping in cracks you never knew existed so you make an excuse to grab something from the coolroom to cool down. And boob sweat, well that's another story. Anyone with a cup size larger than an A could drown in that shit and your ass crack has a heartbeat of its own.

And then when it's that time of the month, you suddenly feel a gush like Niagara Falls and you can't make the hurry bolt to change because it's service and your needed to replenish the front and you hope to god nothing leaks on to your hot, suffocating white coat.

Then when you finally come home after sweating like a whore in a church all day, you're sweet cologne is oil and you can't wait to jump in the shower and rid yourself of the smell and even soaking your uniform over night doesn't guarantee you that that shit will be gone.

You can't be a prude either. Some men talk about their sex lives or lack thereof like having breakfast.

But there are perks. Cranking the music up loud, the ability to swear like an educated sailor (provided the coast is clear of patrons) learning from others and the compliments.you receive along the way makes it worth it.

So now that I've finally knocked off, I'm cracking a can of Jimmy.