#restaurant industry

[chorealis]

I’m not the first or the last person to say this but I grew up in the restaurant industry (third generation restauranteur) and everything that happens in The Bear is real life. Every restaurant you eat at? That’s what’s behind the kitchen door. There’s a crazy culture of abuse (both mental and emotional) as well as rampant substance addiction that’s considered “normal”. And I’m very serious when I say TV personalities like Gordon Ramsey truly make things worse by perpetuating the idea that yelling and screaming at both coworkers and subordinates is how a restaurant “should work”. And that attitude has genuine, real world consequences. So many good chefs- and good people- have taken their own lives because it’s so taboo to ask for help, or even just that maybe being yelled at all day every day might not be good for people’s mental well being.

The kitchen is a wonderful place. People from all walks of life come together in order to make people smile, to make memories, to make food that tastes the way food SHOULD taste!! But it’s also the same place where human beings are treated like absolute garbage. It’s where people plate hundreds of wonderful meals a night, but then eat their own dinner hunched over a trash can. It’s where people escape to a cold, dark, damp walk-in freezer to cry, because that’s the only break they get from being on their feet for hours at a time. It’s the place where chefs sometimes walk out after a hard night and choose not to wake up the next day.

The restaurant industry is changing. Owners and managers say that it’s because “nobody wants to work anymore”, but the truth is that people refuse to let themselves be treated as disposable anymore.

I dunno. All this is to say- remember the human beings behind every dish you eat. The chefs who put so much of their lives into food and the emotions attached to it. Whenever possible, eat at restaurants that have designated kickback fees to the kitchen staff. And if you work in a kitchen… you’re loved. You’re valuable. Please never be afraid to reach out if you need it.

Read more on restaurant service fees here if you’re curious what they are and how they work:

#con rambles #the bear #kitchen confidential #tw suicide #sorry I’m tipsy and reflecting on being fifteen years old and being told I’m a waste of space for burning the shit out of myself by accident #long post #restaurant industry

[penvisions]

garnish {chapter 2}

Pairing: Head Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: Joel can't seem to make up his mind when it comes to you: one minute he's kind and thoughtful, the next he's cruel and cutting off your every word. You're just trying to keep your head above water, work becoming something that is not so simple anymore.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: pining, mutual pining, masturbation, mention of sex toys, use of sex toys, use of recreational drugs, marijauna, joel is a meanie in this, power dynamics, degrading talk, age gap (reader is late 20's, Joel in his 40s)

A/N: diving full force into this story while i'm trying to navigate finding jobs to apply to and calls to places i'm interested it. hopefully this chapter is received as well as the first! please let me know what y'all think!

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist

It had been a hectic two weeks of prepping before your normal bartending shifts.

There had been application posted to fill the position of the sandwich station worker who had called out all those days ago and then just never returned. But in the meantime you had been given the opportunity to prep the station for whoever would be manning it while Joel took over the main hot station that did a majority of the heavier cooking for the entrees as well as the garnishing before plates were deemed ready to go out onto the floor.

Everyone in the kitchen seemed to be under the impression that without a dishwasher until the service began and that it would be a collective effort to keep them in line and working through the washer and then added to the drying rack.

Except for yours.

The items you used and transferred out in the station were left in the bus tubs lining the intake area of the dish pit. You didn’t let it get to you, used to having to keep up with glasses and garnish cambros with the steady if not hectic business of the place. You were in the middle of rinsing out a giant bane when someone placed their own beside you directly in the dish pit and it knocked the ones in your hand enough to cause the spray of the nozzle to wash over you.

You cursed under your breath as it doused you from head to waist. It was a cold shock and you frowned as you continued to get the dishes from your prep cleaned and dried. As soon as it was all set and you double checked everything for the station’s workers for the night, you walked over to where the employee lockers were.

Thoughts of how things had been going overall swirling in your mind as you made your way over to the shared space at the back of the kitchen. Eyes followed you sometimes, people aware of the weird dynamic of someone working both front of house and in the kitchen. But people were outwardly friendly with you still, no animosity other than the business with the dishes. Joel’s eyes often caught your own as he handled his own prep and went about his supervision of things going the way they need to for him to run his kitchen. He would tackle the dishes every so often as well, telling people to line them up if he was able to spend time in the dish pit. Casual conversation were still an occurrence, more so now that you were in the kitchen with people you often talked to through the expo line and the width of the bar top. It was something that just wasn’t worth bringing up and potentially change the easy going dynamic that had been set.

You untied your apron, a black thing with a simple floral pattern that wasn’t really allowed as it didn’t match the uniform of the kitchen staff. But it had been allowed as it was a custom with your name stitched on the front pocket and the one you used to set up the bar. You tossed it into your locker, also labeled with your name, and moved to peel the wet black long sleeve you had worn for the day. Underneath it was a dark heather gray tank top that was lined with lace on the neckline, paired with black denim pants. Your belt was a little kitschy, the buckle a silver metal heart.

You were too preoccupied digging around in your locker for replacement to notice that someone else had come into the locker room. When you made a triumphant sound at finding another shirt, you pulled it out quickly only to come face to face with Joel.

“Oh!” You startled, feet taking you a few quick steps back, or they would’ve if you hadn’t been jammed in the middle of your back by the open locker door. The fabric fell from your hands as you exclaimed again in pain. “Oh, fuck!”

Expletives rained down from your mouth, some in English and some in Spanish, your mind getting tangled as you tried to deal with the pain.

You braced your hands on your knees and leaned down a little, trying to stretch the sharp pain out of your throbbing back before it could cramp and get worse. It was the wrong move as Joel had just leaned down himself to pick up the dropped shirt and your chest was practically in his face. The cleavage from your tank top allowed him an eyeful and he caught sight of the rose-colored bra that you had picked out that morning. He quickly stood back up and shoved the shirt back into your open locker and left the room as quickly as he had come in.

You straightened back up as well and felt the heat rush to your face as you realized what had just happened.

The rest of the shift went by well enough, though you had to be careful with twisting and maneuvering a little more than normal to avoid twinging your sore back. You were sure there was a large bruise that had bloomed to life on the skin but wouldn’t be able to tell for sure until you were home. The restaurant had closed, the last customers were walking out as you began to break down the bar.

You had all the mats in the washer and had started to replace bottles you had grabbed from the shelves lining the back of the bar above the small counter. A particularly full bottle of pomegranate liquor was a hard reach for you and your back spasmed with the effort to reach the middle shelf. Losing your grip on the bottle, you braced yourself for it to fall but a large hand was catching it by the middle before it could lose too much air and placed it atop the shelf for you.

You turned to see Joel standing unnervingly close, his body was a warm line beside you, his chest practically pressing up against your side as he had swooped in to save you from dropping the bottle completely.

“Would hate for it to have gone to waste.” Was all he said as he stood back, his hands resting atop both counters that made up your area, effectively blocking the entrance as he took up the space with his broad form. He watched you as you continued to put bottles away and placing stoppers the ones in the well, wiping them all down with a clean sanitizer rag as you did so. When you got to a good scotch that you had taken weeks picking out, you picked up two rocks classes and filled them with two fingers of the amber liquor each, you slid one over to him. He regarded you as he took a drink from it. His plush lips pressing against the glass in a tantalizing way despite the casualness of the action. “You didn’t eat anythin’ tonight.”

“No, I didn’t have much time. My barback called out and it was just me mixin’ and runnin’.” You explained as you took a sip from your own glass. His eyes traced the movement of the glass much like you had done with his own as he took a drink. Your fingers were adorned with a new coat of dip, having allowed them to grow out a bit and treat yourself to the splurge. The dark green of them adorned with small golden stars must’ve caught his eye as they glinted in the soft lighting of the dining room.

“Could’ve put in a takeout order to have something sent over. I woulda comped it for ya.”

“I’ll just have something when I get home.” You set your glass down on the back shelf, by the register and out of reaching hands should another employee come looking for a post shift treat. You had already made a last call for everyone, some people taking you up on it.

“It’s late.”

“Yeah, but I need to study anyway, so it’ll be okay.”

“Study?”

“I’ve got a midterm tomorrow. I’ll be up for a bit.”

“Didn’t know you were in school.” Behind the casual curiosity you could see a worry about your age, as did everyone when you mentioned school. But the reality was that you had taken a few years off to focus on family and get some personal things straightened out before returning.

“Hmm,” You absently responded as you wrapped up the tops of the squeeze bottles with cling wrap and gathered them in a large storage basin to put in one of the many coolers beneath the bar. “Only part time, graduate this fall.”

“Lemme make you somethin’ to take home.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement. You looked up from where you were now loading the guards for the drains that lined the bar top. Pausing as you had moved to put something into the washer on the other side of the space. Taken aback by the shift in his tone from casual to one he would adapt on the line.

“Oh, no, it’s okay, chef. Really.”

“Chicken or beef?”

“Chef, really, it’s okay.”

“Joel’s fine, darlin’. Chicken or beef?”

“You know, this is the most we’ve ever talked.” He didn’t take the bait, the comment a distraction from his attempt. The last sip of your own drink was quickly downed, and you turned to face away from him as you placed your own glass in the washer. When you turned back around, his eyes were still on you. There was a slight glint to them, something you couldn’t quite make out, but it had you crumbling all the same.

“…beef, please.” You sighed, rubbing your hand over the small of your back. A shy smile taking over your lips as you tried to avoid meeting his eyes with your own. The glass he still held in his hand was knocked back, the remaining liquor downed in a single swig and he was stepping into your space to load it into the open dishwasher. His arm brushed against yours and you felt your face heat up at the proximity.

“Comin’ right up.”

“Lemme know what you think,” He placed one hand on the hood of your truck, the other on the side of the open door and leaned inside the cab a bit. The scent of him filled the space, winning out over the dying air freshener you had yet to replace out of sheer laziness. His cologne was faint after a long shift but the cedar undertones of it were heady as they filled your nose. His lips were suddenly brushing the apple of your cheek, the contact brief. “Good luck on that midterm, see ya tomorrow.”

He took your shocked stillness as a sign to close the door, a smug grin taking over his features as he did so. You watched him through the glass of your window as he walked back to the building, turning to look at you once more with a wink before he disappeared inside.

You sat there for far too long, willing your heartrate back down before you turned the engine and took off toward home. For most of the drive, you found yourself pressing a hand to the skin his lips had touched and glancing over at the two takeout boxes he had secured in a tied-up plastic bag.

The campus was crowded, so incredibly crowded. You had to circle the various parking lots three times over before you were able to snag a spot. The sound of the truck door was loud as you pushed it closed and locked it up before rushing towards the main buildings. You were nearly late, but had just made it down the hall and could see the open door as the time for the beginning of class displayed on the small watch you had adorned today. You had actually been able to dress like normal, only going into the bar later to do inventory and place an order before your day off tomorrow and next. A little break, the manager had said, to help you relax after summer midterms.

Fall was around the corner in a few months and you needed to get things lined up and ready for the menu change that staff meeting had been about a few weeks ago. The skirt of your sundress, black patterned with sunflowers, swirled up as you rushed through the door and turned to take the first seat that was open. Your short sleeves not allowing you much warmth in the colder air of the classroom. As you sat, you pulled out a mustard cardigan and shrugged it on. You felt eyes track your figure as you had walked the entire length of the classroom to the back and took a seat in the back row and plopped down. The shift to the air of the building wasn’t the only reason you decided to don your little sweater, fingers shaking slightly as you buttoned it up completely.

“Alright, now that everyone is here,” The professor offered you a kind smile as they spoke, shutting the door and locking it to prevent anyone from entering from the outside. “Let’s tackle the exciting world of biological evolution.”

An hour and a half later, your hand cramping from writing so fast to catch your thoughts and theories down into tangible words, you turned in your small, stapled packet. You were one of the last ones in the class, everyone else rushing off to enjoy the rest of their day, thankful that class wasn’t running the typical three hours and taking advantage of the early hour before noon. Fingers brushed against your own as the professor reached out to take the paper from you. You felt a jolt of anxiety race up your spine and you offered a weak smile before taking your leave.

Your smaller sized backpack was placed in the heightened bar seat beside you. The laptop you bought for school last year open and glowing in front of you with the white blankness that was the ordering screen for the company the restaurant preferred to use. It was early, only Joel in the kitchen for early prep due to a lot of reservations and the manager doing the same as you, taking inventory before placing orders.

You looked over your notes, unsure of what you had scrawled down on one page, but it didn’t seem to matter. It was about the lamb special, something that Joel was still working on. Uncrossing your legs, you hopped down from the stool you had been sat it for far too long. The tingling of blood flow returning to your legs had you walking stiffly toward the kitchen, the thump of your healed boots louder than normal on the floor of the dining room as you crossed the space. Your hair was down, the scent of your shampoo calming you as you approached the door.

Thoughts of the man just on the other side of the door had plagued you all night. You tried to fight a heat that threatened to rise as you recalled the way you had called out his name in a loud whimper when you had come undone with the help of your vibrator. It had been all encompassing, recalling the heat of him as he had stood close to you and roped you into allowing him to cook for you after close, the brush of his warm skin along your arm, the plush give of his lips as he had leaned in to touch them to your cheek. The care he had put into the food he prepared for you, enough for dinner and lunch today if you hadn’t gotten so high and gave into the desires of your stomach and cunt so easily.

Taking a deep breath to settle your nerves, you pushed open the swing door, your nails clinking softly on the dark metal. As you crossed the threshold, Joel’s eyes snapped up from where he was on the line. You were suddenly self-conscious of the dress you were wearing, cardigan laid over the back of your stool at the bar.

“Chef, I had a few questions about the special. I know we went over it at the meeting but-“ The words cut off in your throat as you looked up to see his eyes hard and heavy on you. He had only glanced at you before looking back down at what he was doing but it seemed his attention was focused solely on you now and it made you squirm after the awkward morning you had had.  Maybe he was upset about food safety, your hair was down, and the dress had rather short sleeves and low cut. “Oh, I have a sweater I can put on and a hair tie if you’re worried about food safety.”

“No.” It was quick, the word flying from his lips and followed by the sound of him clearing his throat rather harshly. You could practically feel the heat of his gaze in the metal of the necklace around your neck, the simple chain reacting to his eyes on you much like your skin was. His next words weren’t as harsh as that first one. “No, don’t worry about that, should be fine.”

“Um, okay.” Fingers wringing around each other, you took another couple of steps into the kitchen, closer to the expo line you were peering at him through. “Did-did you decide on the balsamic for the fall special?

“Testing it out today, want to help?”

“Oh, oh no, I couldn’t!” You put a hand on the empty space of the expo line, nails clinking as you did so, and the sound drew his attention to it. You worried he was going to tell you to remove them before your next shift. But he had seen them yesterday and not said anything. “It’s your kitchen, I don’t want to intrude on prep time when I’m not even on schedule.”

“You’re here off the clock?”

“No, I clocked in, but it was…supposed to be my day off. Mary- she gave me the weekend off to relax after midterms.”

He didn’t say anything, his eyes going over your attire again in a sweeping gaze. The way your chest was slightly pushed up as you leaned against the slightly higher counter. His gaze moved back to what he was doing, out of your line of sight.

“Hop back here and we can figure it out together.”

“I-I can’t, really, I’m just here to do the order.” You didn’t want to turn down the offer, something he wasn’t keen to hand out to people in the kitchen let alone anyone else. But his close proximity was a heady thought and your body hummed with the prospect of being behind the line with him. It was dangerous, a line that shouldn’t be crossed and he was sending you such inviting signals. You didn’t need gossip to start, focused on you and how you seemed to soften the man in charge of the kitchen though you hadn’t really done anything.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

“Chef-“

“Joel, thought I told you to cut that chef crap out?” His lips twitched up slightly, the hint of a dimple appearing in his right cheek through the scruff along his face. You closed your eyes in a long blink as you felt a pulse of desire underneath your dress. He was so enamoring, the hint of his true personality peeking through the work persona he took on, or maybe just another facet of the man who you couldn’t seem to get out of your head.

“Joel, I can’t. I have stuff to do today after the order. I’m sorry, I’m not trying to offend you but it’s-“

The openness of his expression and the light behind his eyes dulled, slipping back to the normal emotionless one he wore when service started.

“Got it,” His hands became rough with what he was doing, and you realized he had been chopping up the brussels and sweet potatoes you were asking after. The knife was making a fast-snicking sound as his eyes focused on the cutting board in front of him, his focus on the task at hand. His voice had lost the jovial tone he had taken up, now rough and no nonsense. “Balsamic will most likely be a glaze thrown on before they roast.”

“Heard, chef.” You found yourself pushing off the expo line, feeling small, and made your way back into the dining room. Quickly shutting the laptop, not bothering to wait for it to save anything or power down, you shoved it into your bag along with your cardigan. You swiped your keys off of the counter beside the glass of water you had poured for yourself and took hurried steps toward the entrance. You scrambled for the handle of the door and pushed it harder than necessary, tears springing up in your eyes at the thought of confrontation as you heard the kitchen door swing open.

Heavy, even footsteps through the dining room had you forgetting to lock the door back up and you were throwing your bag into the passenger seat of your truck parked on the curb, having been told you could do so since the place wasn’t due to open until regular hours. The sound of your driver’s side door slamming was loud even to you as you jammed the keys into the ignition and the engine roared to life.

You didn’t spare a glance up at the outline of Joel standing on the curb you could see out of your peripheral, jerking the gear shift into drive and taking off with a sob bubbling up from your chest. His signals were so confusing, making it hard to figure out how to act around him. Work was supposed to be work, easy. Clock in, prep, make drinks, clean, clock out. Not this mental game of gymnastics with a man who seemed to warm up to you one second and then ice you out the next.

You were called early Sunday morning by an apologetic Mary. Saying that the bartender on shift for the brunch service had called out. You calmed her down, knowing it would be good to get the hours and tips and said you would be there in time to open the bar. Brunch was an earlier ordeal, the only day that the restaurant wasn’t open for dinner service. An easy shift, only a few hours between nine and three. A baby shift, and you would have the opportunity to order something sweet to go. A treat to enjoy on the couch with a dumb comedy playing on the screen of your living room.

The service went by quickly, jugs of orange juice and bottles of champagne piling up in your trash bin in a whirlwind of orders. Mimosas were easy money, strawberry syrup an easy upcharge to get people excited about. You had spilled tomato juice on your apron earlier and the cloying acidity was making waves of nausea roll in your stomach every time you caught a whiff of it. Things were winding down with only an hour and a half left of service. Another forty-five for kitchen orders, but you would be pouring until about ten minutes to close. You rang in a to go order of French toast and a side of scrambled eggs.

You had forgotten all about it until you were wrapping up the takeout order of someone at the bar, realizing yours had never made it over to you at the bar. It wasn’t as if you were about to eat it during service but still, it would’ve been nice to close everything down and have it ready to grab on your way out the front door.

You locked the door for the customer as you followed them to the front door. The last of the day and turned the lock after they safely across the public parking lot. With a sigh you turned toward the kitchen and braced yourself to interact with the man who had weaved his way into every one of your thoughts.

He had been professional throughout the shift, allowing you to pass clearance on dishes that needed to be run when you had come back to check on the lag created by servers flooding the sparse kitchen with orders. Allowing you the ability to do so as he always had done.

“Um, chef?” His eyes snapped to you for barely a second before he went back to gathering the stuff he needed to clean the grill. He made a grunt of acknowledgement to show he heard you. “I was wondering if my ticket was ready? I put it in before the cut off but-“

“We sold the par for what you ordered. Didn’t have enough for it.” His back tensed as he raised a hand to pour a good drizzle of oil over the entirety of the grill, grill brick ready in his other hand. The black gloves looked tight over his knuckles, like he was tense.

“Oh, um, okay.” You shuffled on your feet, aware of the two other cooks glancing between you both at the interaction. They were busy wrapping things and storing them into their respective stations, gathering dishes and things that needed to be washed. A grumble from your stomach urged your next question, too tired to attempt grocery shopping or cooking yourself. “Is-is there anything I can swap it out for?”

“We’re already shut down, can’t you see me cleaning the grill?” He turned around, items still in his grip as he finally faced you head on. “Shoulda come and checked before service closed. It ain’t my job to look after mistakes made by the front of house.”

The heat climbing up your face startled you, shame bubbling up alongside embarrassment. But you ignored it as your teeth ground against each other with the pressure of your jaw clenching. Eyes flicking over the items on the line in front of you. There was plenty he could throw together for you; he just didn’t want to. You nodded once before speaking in an even, professional tone. Your own mask falling into place.

“Apologies chef, it won’t happen again.”

You tried not to let the whispered words of the other two cooks hurt too much as you moved through the door. The two of them followed slightly as they came out from the line and made their way over to the dish pit.

“I thought I saw a second tray prepped in the walk in.”

“Me too, she must’ve done something to piss him off.”

You wallowed on the couch until late, the brightness of the screen playing across your blank face, eyes not really seeing the movie playing across the screen.

previous chapter || next chapter

#dev writes #fic: garnish #tlou #tlou fic #tlou fanfic #tlou au #the last of us #the last of us au #restaurant au #chef! joel miller #head chef! joel miller #bartender! reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #head chef! joel miller x bartender! reader #restaurant industry #food industry #drug use #recreational drug use #alcohol consumption #mean joel miller #angst #joel miller

[queerpossums]

incomplete, incomprehensible, incoherent list of shit that helps me with understimulation

energy drinks (followed up by lots of water because i want to save what kidney function i have left)

spinning in a desk chair until i feel like im turning green

walking through frat row on a friday night

chewing gum

ordering enough espresso over ice that it looks like a cold brew

diy shows in a mildewy, sweaty basement

working boh during dinner rush

listening to very very very very loud music

chosing the "hot" spice level for thai curry

swimming in a spring-fed creek in early april

listening to a chaotic podcast where everyone is talking over each other and a ton of random shit is happening (well there's your problem is perfect for this)

#shitpost #adhd problems #adhd #actually adhd #actually neurodiverse #neurodivergent #caffeine #coffee #monster #(but no monster rn because fuck coca-cola) #energy drink #espresso #diy punk #basement show #house show #house party #diy concert #boh #back of house #prep cook #dishwasher #restaurant industry #spicy food #well there's your problem #podcast #engineering podcast #leftist podcasts

[colekatrine]

Lmfao iykyk

#me #blonde #blue eyes #selfies #snapchat #tattoos #foodie #yummy #selfie #home cook #work #waitress #server #restaurant industry #restaurant #oil pen #weed #weed pen #marijuana girlie

[gacha-incels]

extremely disturbing, unfortunately not a completely uncommon thought especially among misogynist men worldwide and horrifying when you see South Korea’s extremely high rates of domestic abuse

#South korea #violence against women #restaurant industry #bar industry #Male violence

[deramin2]

I love how PIG (2021), The Bear (2021-present), and The Menu (2022) all have start with a character that's a white guy haute cuisine chef who's bad with people but brilliant at his work but who's been driven to madness by the bullshit pretentious fakeness of the industry plus personal tragedy.

In PIG, The Chef has renounced it all and run off into the woods to enjoy living off the land with only his pig as company. In The Bear, The Chef goes back home to run his dead brother's chaotic dive sandwich shop and revaluate his life. In The Menu, The Chef prepares his most confrontational and grandest tasting menu, and a night the world will remember (threat).

Three pieces of media about how the industry eats people at all levels alive and how they deal with that breaking point. And if they can ever be okay again. With different answers.

#media analysis #the bear #the menu #PIG 2021 #restaurant industry

[loudcheesecakefan]

I'm not on the schedule at my job this week and I just heard that they hired too much people so they are letting go of people... on a scale of 1 to 10, how scared should I be ? 😅😅😅

#restaurant industry #job #i'm kinda scared #like why did you hire that many people if you knew you were going to have to let them go ?

[chefbearzatto]

shout out to all my fellow restaurant workers as we enter the holidays (hell week). you got this and don’t forget to take care of yourself!! happy holidays & make that money!!!!

#restaurant industry #service industry #restaurant worker #the bear #carmen berzatto #sydney adamu

[foodtellsastory]

#taco tuesday #taco john's #taco bell #food #restaurant industry

[callsignangelxx]

July, 27th, 2023!

2nd day at Sonic drive in, at about 12:30ish, 12:40ish to start hands on training with my General manager, I'm actually Pretty excited for today, I will probably be on shift for about most of the week but on weekends I requested to have off before I took the Job offer, can't miss family movie nights lmao, which right now are mostly Wolverine movies, X-Men movies and Marvel Movies lmao.

#sonic drive in #i love my job #food service #restaurant industry #2nd day

[awkwardlitebrite]

Okay so I'ma rant on here cuz if I post it anywhere else, someone is gonna ask "who is that?" and y'all on here dgaf. Plus if I do get feedback from y'all, it would be some real shit.

To start this off, I work as a pastry chef in a high volume restaurant in Baltimore's inner harbor. I have this one coworker that I now have doing desserts and pastries with me. Before he joined me, my boss and other managers were warning me of his personal hygiene, lack of care, and communication problems. Now I didn't think it'd be that bad at first cuz he can do the work and won't complain.

But hygiene wise, I don't know what to tell him. He doesn't like wearing gloves, but his fingernails be dirty af so i enforce a glove rule. He has an odor, which isn't too bad most days, but at 10am, I'm not trying to smell armpits and feet already. He's been spotted, not just by me, but other coworkers and managers with skid marks in his drawls. Like if he didn't sag his pants and then bend over constantly without a belt, we wouldn't know. BUT WE ALL KNOW!

He's also slow with what I get him to do. I understand stretching out tasks to make hours, but bruh. It don't take 5 minutes to crack 30 eggs. I can do 70 in 5 minutes. So I end up doing all the batters and set ups while he just does the baking and storage. Yet he'll store things in incorrect places, won't label them, and then forgets verbal instructions yet won't ask for clarification or for me to repeat it. Like I don't mind, but fuck.

When it comes to personal accountability, he deflects and blames it on whatever. Or he'll pick and choose what he wants to take blame for. BUT loves to tell me that his gf says he's mature for his age. 🙄 (I only think he likes to bring that up a lot because he used to have a crush on me when I first started working there and I told I don't date younger men and I am taken)

He also doesn't like to communicate his problems with our head chef, especially with scheduling even though our head chef is IN CHARGE OF SCHEDULES! He complains when he has to do "extra" work, but if we're getting paid and they don't care about OT, what exactly is the complaint for? He wants a raise, but complains, yet always has to be right even when he's wrong. I try not to carry conversation too long that's not about work cuz he'll say something off-putting and then I wanna fight.

I type all of this to finally finish with this: evaluations are coming up soon and he wants a raise. His asking number is more than what I make, but I'm supposed to be his superior. I'm not upset he wants to aim high, but I feel like there has to be some type of cleanliness aspect expected for him to achieve or him showing maturity in his work. As someone who went to culinary school, I'd expect him to have more drive and passion show up in his work.

#i gotta stop expecting me from other people #theyre a few people at my job that care #but they get tired too of carrying the slackers #long post #rant #restaurant #restaurant industry #pastry chef #fuck coworkers

[creationcitystreet-em]

Hey everyone, I just wanted to give a friendly reminder to always be kind to your wait staff especially on busy days like this weekend! I’m a server and I’m working all weekend. We are crazy busy each day because of graduations and Mother’s Day and I am just absolutely exhausted right now from today and will have to do it all over again tomorrow. However, despite how crazy and tiring today was, it was also an overall great shift because all my tables were patient, kind, and tipped well! I was running my ass off for large tables celebrating, never really getting a moment to rest, truly one of the busiest nights I’ve ever worked, but it was far from the worst because of how wonderful my tables were. So just be kind to people, if I had a night of assholes, I would be in a much different mood right now.

Also, while you’re out celebrating with your moms, the staff have to work to accommodate how many people are out with family. I can’t visit my mom tomorrow because she lives a couple hours away and nobody was allowed to request off. So just keep that in mind as well, I’m sure the people working for you would rather be somewhere else.

#be kind #Mother’s Day #waiter #server #waitress #restaurant #graduation #service industry #customer service #restaurant industry

[karina-wr]

I got an unofficial offer for a job at a company I really love. 🤞🤞 It’s essentially a front of house management job rather than the assistant gm job I interviewed about, but I don’t think I care.

It’s the same FOH nonsense but it’s for a REALLY great, growing, popular, amazing place. Two blocks from my home.

I am home alone but might just drink some champagne anyway! 🥂

#yayyyy #jobs with benefits #restaurant industry

[slinkywhat]

Well, that’s one way to end an 11.5-year career at Darden.

“Our call offs are occurring at a staggering rate.”

I bet that wouldn’t be the case if you paid your employees well, treated them well, or—get this—both.

“From now on, if you call off, you might as well go out and look for another job. We are no longer tolerating ANY excuse for calling off.”

Olive Garden: Now seeking mindless drones with zero chance for illness, familial emergencies, or extraneous circumstances. Must have no other responsibilities outside of working for Olive Garden, whatsoever.

“Do you know in my 11.5 years at Darden how many days I called off? Zero. I came in sick.”

Bitch, you work in a RESTAURANT. That’s admission of major health code violations, right there.

“I got in a wreck literally on my to work one time, airbags went off and my car was totaled, but you know what, I made it to work, ON TIME!”

This is not the brag that you think it is. It’s really sad.

“If you don't want to work here, don't. It's as simple as that.”

Sure, capitalism has always made it so easy—that people passionately want to work every grueling job out there, where customers treat you like dirt, not that they need it to support themselves.

“You're in the restaurant business. Do you think I want to be here until midnight on Friday and Saturday? No. I'd much rather be at home with my husband and dog, going to the movies or seeing family. But I don't, I'm dedicated to being here. As should you.”

Really? Because not even you are making a good case for this here. You just switched from insisting people want to be there and want to work—because it is an honor and a privilege—to admitting outright that you don’t want to be there either, but you’ve committed 11.5 years to sacrificing your family to be dedicated to this job (you know, the one that just fired you instantly for sending out this mass email, because you’re a replaceable commodity… was it worth it?).

If you need to implement stricter policies and penalize or fire employees who are consistently calling out, then do it—but skip putting a toddler temper tantrum in writing (because it’s not anywhere close to communicating what you think it is), and when you’re still consistently turning over employees after you crack down, try some introspection as to why that might be.

Then, actually try to solve it, with some empathy, instead of simply blaming hundreds or thousands of people who must just be “lazy.” Because, sure—that MUST be it. Couldn’t possibly find any other commonalities amongst that many people who are dissatisfied enough to risk being fired rather than come work for you.

#quiet quitting #antiwork #work #corporate #minimum wage #restaurant industry #service industry #bad boss #company culture #jobs #fired

[romanarose]

If DB Cooper can be polite to the stewardess of the plane hijacked, you can be nice to your waiter

#db cooper #service #service industry #service memes #server #waitress #waiter #restaurant #restaurant industry

[pcnwriting]

Why leave the restaurant industry?

I want to leave the restaurant industry. It's been high time for a year now. It's just hard to let go of something I've put so much work and effort into. There is a level of entropy I've grown accustomed to professionally that will be hard to step away from. I thrive in the environment from the perspective of a worker. However, that same trait is the biggest exploit from any and all employers I've worked for.

The industry thrives on people who care. They take the people with true talent and work ethic and grind them to dust through awful services, horrendous work conditions, and unfair requests all because they know these people will do it because they love doing it.

I loved doing it.

It's been sullied now, ruined like a plate shattered to the ground. There is nothing I want to be doing less than having my talent exploited to make a billionaire a few dollars richer. There is no autonomy to my life, every decision I've had to make has been to further being able to work. I'm tried of living that way. I want to experience life for life itself, not try to get little grasps between endless work hours.

#restaurant worker #restaurant industry #I quit