Those of you who have travelled down this long and arduous highway with me in the hopes that I might secure myself a job for more than maybe, let's say a month, I've got some bad news.
Interview on Monday went well. I'm scrapping the bottom here, I'm applying for line cook positions, because I really need money, badly, and if you look on Craig's List, there are tons of these positions available. About two thirds of that ton are corporate umbrella type jobs. Meaning, there are hardly any 'mom and pop' restaurants in NYC anymore. Everything is affiliated with either an ego maniacal chefs 'name' or some 'theme' type restaurant whose corporate owners greedy, roux stained hands are umbrella's for any restaurant over 80 seats. 'Ruby Foo's' begot 'Dos Caminos' begot 'Atlantic Grill' begot 'Blue Fin' etcetera. And that is just one corporation (Be R Guest <--- figures it's a frigging Disney tune!). This joint I interviewed at was newly opened (bad sign). The first chef quit (can a flag be any redder?) The new chef seemed okay, and I specifically told him 'what I was looking for'. He yessed me to death. He actually wanted me to train that night (sung to the tune of 'Desperado'). I declined. I went back Tuesday and trained. You know what's funny about these places? The kitchen area has to be the most homophobic work place of professionals. Fag jokes and 'boyfriend' jabs are tossed around like a vinaigrette on frisse. Either all these guys are just closet cases or they are all idiots with bad jokes.
I totally got thrown into the mix right away and I superseded any expectations, and 5 hours later, with no training pay (these bastards have some racket), the chef hired me. He told me to come back today(Thurs) @ 2:30. I immediately sensed something was amiss. He was like a giant dick to me. He was telling me about these strippers who were there the previous night for someones Christmas party dressed in these skimpy outfits, and I was like, "Yeah?" or "Really". Like I was not all, testosterone about it. Who gives a crap. Then he would tell me things to do, and I'd be doing them and he was just so contradictory. I swear to you, my dear friends, I almost left three times, but I took a few deep breaths and I told/psyched myself into staying because I have to. The service started and this guy just ripped apart EVERY FUCKING THING I DID. I could make an amazing Risotto blindfolded, and he is seasoning it with more and more salt. Then he says something else to me, and he's like, 'What's wrong with you?' and next sentence, "Pay attention." FUCK YOU, you dick. Fuck you and that 27 year old chef mentality you have.
I was like, pulling off my fucking rubber gloves, "I don't need this shit" (very low voiced) but it seems that the whole kitchen became quiet. I frigging felt so justified walking out of there with my head held high. No dickbrain has ever nor will ever talk to me this way.
P.S. This is how hunger starved for compliments these guys (chefs) are. He was standing next to me, making a Demi-Glace, and he tasted it, and I hear him say to himself, "Sometimes I amaze myself."
I'm pissed because I left my French knife there. Dammit.