Walk a Mile in My Crusty Shoes

I am convinced that everyone should spend a week or two working in the food industry. I would like to conduct a study that goes something like this:
During the first week the hard labor is done. Participants can see how hot and strenuous working in a commercial kitchen is. The second week they will be on the customer service end. They can field all the insane questions and requests and take all the berating on the front line.

After this experience I believe that people will never be rude to a food service employee for as long as they live and breathe.



During that first week, legs will cramp. Participants will get burned, cut, and bruised. They will learn to work fast and efficient. There is little room for error when things need to be done yesterday. They will think on their toes and try not to freak out. They will do three times the work because a dishwasher called out and someone else just quit. Participants will be amazed at the things we cooks can do with food. The parsley stems that home cooks trash, we put into soup. The peaches that are to soft to sell, we make into a sauce. There will be more profanity, slurs, and sexually harassing statements thrown around than any outsider can stomach.


But week two is worse.


Throughout week two they will remember all the hard work they put in because they will probably still be in some pain. Then, they will watch as some bratty kid tosses their Sicilian Orzo to the floor and shouts, "That's gross, Mom." They will stand there and try not to fly over the counter as a lady who is missing half of her teeth complains, "Your turkey was tough. I could barely chew it." And just when they thought they have met the worst, the corporate lunch crowd rolls in. These people sit at their desks all day, stare into a computer, make senseless conversation via phone, and then probably catch a load of shit from their boss. As the CLC walks in they look important talking on their Blue-tooth and they certainly act important, but the percentage of them that actually is important is smaller than the cubicles in which they reside. But here, they feel above someone, and that 'someone' is you. So they proceed give instruction on how to correctly make polenta or fried chicken. These people, who watched a few episodes of Rachel Ray's '30 Minute Meals,' want to stand there and give direction. By the way, that's like taking fashion advice from RuPaul. Just another loud, crazy lady whose presence is vaster than her knowledge.

For some reason, people feel entitled to demand things at their whim. And when these requests are not fulfilled, or fulfilled quickly enough, they proceed to flip out. "You're a fucking idiot, that's why you work here," customers will say. Appropriate, don't you think? No, what is appropriate is to respect the profession until you walk a mile wearing its crusty, clunky, slip-resistant shoes. At the very least you will think twice before complaining that the coleslaw wasn't made correctly and in the fashion of your Southern-born grandmother.