As part of my fellowship, I have kitchen duty three mornings a week. This usually involves working with materials I hold dear, like scooping peanut butter, filling up cereal containers and displaying a tray of bacon. So naturally, I don't mind. My supervisor was immediately impressed by my innate restaurant work ethic, although I must say I was a little disturbed to have retained a decade's worth of service industry knowledge. It's like riding a bicycle I suppose, but then of course I don't know how to ride a bicycle. Dare I assume though that bike riding is a way more practical skill than balancing a tray of lettuce on your hips while opening a walk-in fridge.
I'm also in charge of salad prep. My supervisor expected I'd be just as quick with these craftsman-like tasks as I was with the laborious stuff. He was wrong. I'm a bachelorette. I didn't eat salad until I was 25. I make tuna burritos for chissakes. I do not have the patience, or apparently the skill, or maybe it's just the passion, to cut vegetables.
On day two this happened while chopping cherry tomatoes:
Two hours ago while piling the cutting board onto the egg tray:
Seriously, how did I get Rudolph finger from a plastic board?
I told you vegetables were evil.
ReplyDelete