A Right of Passage.

For people in the restaurant business we are fortunate enough to work(I use the word work loosely because any time you are getting paid to have fun, learn, & make memories, isnt exactly work) in a spot where the staff is what makes the restaurant. Not just for one summer or one spring break, or for one nite, but for years. A place where they aren't co-workers they're family and they arent customers they are friends and family. I've been fortunate enough to work in 2 of those kinds of restaurants in my life, and the funny thing is. It was the first restaurant I worked in and the last restaurant I worked in full time. My first real job was at the age of 14 working in a friend of the families restaurant as a dishwasher 2 weeks after they opened at the VA Beach oceanfront. Started off as probably one of the worst dishwashers of all time, but they looked out and showed me the ropes and I eventually caught on. Being that it was a friend of the family some looked out to make sure I wasn't getting into trouble and if my grades were bad they would cut my hours. As much as some tried to keep me from getting in trouble I always found it somewhere. The first time I smoked weed was at the age of 14 during a restaurant clean with 2 cats that where in there mid to late 20's, and between that and watching the cooks have fun with what they were doing, watching them have a fun when they got off the line, the camaraderie, and chics(it was the oceanfront of course there was fucking chics every where) I knew I wanted to cook. Not a whole lot of people know what they want to do when they're 14 and actually do it. Being a grommit in the restaurant business is something that every young teen boy should have to be put through(it builds character). For example, one day at work when I was about 14 or 15 I was asked if I wanted a shot, of course I said yes. I took that shot like I was one of the boys at the bar, it's when I realized it was water the shrimp were thawing in that I started feeling like I wanted to puke. After washing dishes I became a prep cook, fuck yeah!! I get to fuck with knives and slicers and cut shit!! No more cleaning greasy fucking dishes and pots and pans. Yeah that's some bullshit right there, if you stay in the business long enough you end up washing more dishes after you graduate from the dish pit than you ever did when you were in the pit. Every time a dish dog calls out, the dish machine breaks(by the way there was no dish machine for me, 3 compartment sink no sprayer either) you're helping with dishes, it's just part of the job and everyone should do it at least for a summer or two.

The 1st of hopefully many

I've decided to do another blog, and this one is dedicated to the drunken rambles, random thoughts, and look backs on my life working in the restaurant game. I hope you enjoy it and I thank you in advance for taking the time to ready my rambles. Thank you. I've worked in restaurants for going on 22 years, I've seen a lot of shit and I've done a lot of shit in those years in restaurants and in my personal life while working in restaurants. Every day I look back on my life and can't believe half the shit I've seen or done, and most of the people that read this probably won't believe it either, but the other half, the half that has worked in restaurants and have seen some of this shit or even crazier shit. They are the ones I am writing this for, you don't have to have worked in a kitchen to know the crazy shit that goes on in the restaurant life. Just have to have worked in a couple restaurants for more than a couple months at a time and you will get a small glimpse of just a part of the debauchery that goes on in the restaurant game. If half the general public knew the shit that was done by the people preparing their food, they would shit themselves. Get ready to have your eyes opened to what has happened in my life and in the lives of others while living in the restaurant life.