011 - POV At work...802

'Last order up,' I call to my co-workers as the waiter takes two creme brûlées out. Christoph, Tammy and myself exchange exhausted looks. 

'We made it guys, I'm so impressed. You both did incredibly well.'

Neither say a word. I think they're both in a state of shock. The evening service was busy as hell. This time of the year always is. There's a tension that pervades the festive season everywhere you go. Societally, we set impossible tasks to achieve and spend every waking moment stressing about them. To me, this time of the year is farcical to the point of absurdity. 

Don't get me wrong. I'm not a Christmas Grinch. I don't hate the festive season. Quite the opposite, this time of the year brings me a great deal of enjoyment, but for different reasons than the mainstream narrative. I feel that it's been hijacked by corporate overlords with only one concern, their bottom line. It seems the spirit of human kindness is an insignificant addendum on big business balance sheets. To me, Christmas is a time for reflection, a time to slow down, not speed up. A time to step outside ourselves and take stock, not become singularly focused on the acquisition of material goods in some vain hope that an abundant supply of cheap and terrible things produced by the exploited hands of children in developing nations will inject some sort of long lost meaning in our lives. 

'You mind I take a smoke break before break-down?' Christoph asks.

I look to Tammy, she has the same nicotine longing in her eyes. I know the feeling of the addict only too well. I can empathise on a level I hope these two will never know. 

'I tell you what guys, I'll do you one better. You two sign off, I'll do break-down myself.'

Christoph and Tammy look to each other quickly. I know that they'd both love nothing more than to get out of the hot box right now. It must be a sense of obligation that causes Tammy to say, 'Christoph, you go if you want, I'll stay and clean.'

My ever faithful su-chef gives this a moment of thought, but evidently doesn't like the idea of being the only one to go home early and says, 'No, just a smoke break will be enough. I don't mind breaking down.'

To this I reply, a little more sternly this time, 'No, I mean it guys. I let you down at the start of the shift, to make up, I'll do the full break-down myself. You can both sign off now.'

There's a moment of quiet, neither wanting to be the first to accept this offer, but finally Tammy says, 'Are you sure? It's okay if I stay.'

'No, please. I insist.' And that's the end of that. 

Tammy's exhausted face creases into a huge smile as she comes around the kitchen divide and gives me an awkward hug. Christoph is a lot more perfunctory. He grabs his knives, cell phone and keys and gets out of the kitchen as fast as he can. Only stopping to call back, 'Thanks Susan, have a good night,' as he steps out the staff exit.

After Tammy leaves I stop and look around the kitchen. The bomb site more like. It's going to take a while to clean, but I've been through worse. Much, much worse. 

                                                                 ***

The breakdown took a lot longer than I expected. I'm very diligent in my cleaning. I never skimp or cut corners. As I'm wiping down the last surface area I can't help but think of the first Chef I knew, the man who taught me how to survive in a kitchen, his name was Remi. He was a terrible alcoholic, loud, boisterous and his tongue was so sharp that one lashing from it left you with a festering emotional wound for a week. But as a drill sergeant crushes coal-boys into diamond-men, he hardened me for the better. He was a hell of a chef who never faltered under pressure. In fact, thinking back now, it seemed the busier his kitchen got the more focused and determined he became. He approached every shift like an obsessed adventurer attempting to summit a murderous mountain that no man had ever conquered before. And somehow, despite the laws of physics and nature being against him, every shift he emerged victorious. 

"You've been wiping that same area for five minutes, glad I ain't paying' you by the hour."

Patrick's gruff voice startles me. I glance at the exceptionally clean surface area in front of me and realise he's right. I must have drifted, thinking of Remi. 

"When you're done, see me in my office. And bring your keys, I'll need them back."

Shit.