I miss writing here. I miss my readers. I miss being able to answer every comment, every email. I miss keeping up with the blogs I love. I miss my family.

Work is still a hellish mess. In fact, I will be returning to that kitchen to bake more shortly. I have come to the conclusion that if two of my coworkers drank  56 pints of beer on the clock and were still there when the head manager and executive chef arrived they were celebrating the fact that they were planning on quitting anyway. There are cameras everywhere at my work. When the tapes were played and the amount of beer consumed was brought to light I must admit I was impressed not only by their ability to consume so much beer and still bake well over the amount of bread required for the next day but also by the fact that they had the liquid balls to tell the executive chef exactly what they thought of him. Had I not been off on the now legendary night things never would have gotten so far out of hand and I am certain that I would have gotten them out  the door before the arrival of anyone else. The bottom line is they made a decision and I am not responsible for the actions of two grown men. I do miss them both as we had developed a close rapport as coworkers. On the night shift with a small crew it is wonderful if I am surrounded by people I feel comfortable with. I can only hope I can develop that type of relationship with the freshly hired faces who will soon be heading through the doors.

I have been working an extreme quantity of hours. I had Monday night off, at long last a respite. Monday afternoon as I made my way home I stopped at a liquor store and purchased two bottles of scotch. I gave one to Alex and set the other aside for later. After a nap I awoke and looking forward to a night with my husband I drank from that bottle. We snuggled in the bed together and caught up on TV shows, Californication, Weeds, Dexter. I continued to pour by the light of the screen. I was very thirsty apparently because I drank an entire fifth alone. Alex, realizing that I had gone way too far, cooked me potato and tofu burritos and kindly filled my alcohol soaked stomach. As the room started to spin, he stayed by my side. Throughout my brief naps he brought water to my lips to ward off the oncoming dehydration. Fortunately both of our children were asleep and did not see me in that condition. I had been doing such a good job staying sober up until that night. I made a mistake. More important than the consequence of the hangover I have right now is the feeling of disappointment I feel today. I slipped and here I am, getting back up.

I need to get ready for work now. I have no idea what my schedule looks like for this week. I will try to check in here more often. Please know that I do read every comment and email and I appreciate you all.

I am in the midst of a work hell situation. Two bakers were fired and I am trying my best to hold it together until new employees can be hired and trained. Until then, too many hours working, not enough days off and not a whole lot of sleeping. I really miss writing here. Hopefully, there is some time off in my future. Thanks for the well wishes and emails of concern. I am fine.

Polly Self Portrait

The young boy dishwasher at my work is so small that the first day I saw him, back when I started the job in May, I wondered why he wasn’t in school. It turns out that he’s 20 and just very short. He gets teased a lot, called a hobbit etc., and I can’t say I ever gave him much sympathy because his disposition is so nasty I would have fired him months ago. He stands around and bitches constantly about washing dishes. He bitches in the kitchen; he complains when I bring him dishes to the dish pit, he finally announced that he wouldn’t continue there unless he was promoted to prep. To my surprise they started pulling him into the kitchen from time to time, having him do mundane tasks like run the slicer and slam hundreds of pounds of potatoes through the potato cutter for French fries. He told tales to the chefs and prep cooks alike of his guitar skills or as it was put, “what he was really going to do with his life.” I ignored him. The majority of the people there are going to be something else: a writer, an actor, a doctor, an executive chef, a musician.

The other day when he was called from the crazy hell of a steaming room of filthy pots, plates, silverware, garbage, cloth napkins etc. and into the hustling room full of knife wielding hopefuls I noticed that he took the time to go all the way upstairs to the locker room to get a chef’s jacket to replace his snap button, short sleeve, dishwasher shirt. I saw him fussing with all of the buttons as he sat on the stairs and suddenly felt guilty that I’d written him off easily as just a whiny, bitchy, lazy, little fuck. Not that he isn’t a whiny, bitchy, lazy, little fuck, but he still hopes to be something. Me? I like the dishwasher shirts better than the long sleeve multi button, thick chef jackets. They’re just too hot for people to stand in front of such heat for so many hours.

***

When I arrived at work a coworker was standing in my station, the song “Magic Man” blasting from the speakers on the shelf above him as he occasionally sang out “Barracuda!” “What are you doing?” I asked him. He started talking about something work related and I motioned to the speakers, befuddled, as another “Barracuda!” escaped his lips. “I am singing along to Barracuda.” I couldn’t believe these two songs could be mistaken for each other, so I quickly corrected him. He started to argue with me, and I wondered why I cared so much.

***

I saw him crossing the street towards me as I waited downtown for the bus. He was wrapped in a sleeping bag, his hair a wild mass of grey dreadlocks, his clothes so worn they were literally falling from his body. “Can you spare three bucks so I can get something to eat?” he said. I reached into my purse and grabbed the banana that I had brought to work but had no time to eat and extended it to him. “I don’t want a fucking banana; I want three bucks so I can get something to eat!” he yelled out, his face a mass of sores and his teeth an array of brown slivers cracking off in his gums. As I saw him stomp away, still yelling out about something I couldn’t make out, I placed the banana back as I gazed down the street for the next bus, longing to see my number, to rest my aching feet on the ride home.

Currently listening to: Rufus Wainwright Hallelujah.

I do have stories to tell and comments and emails to answer but I have been trying to deal with a change in my work schedule. My boss asked me if I would be interested in working days, and I said yes, so she scheduled me from 2 a.m. ’til noon. It wasn’t what I had thought of when she had said days, but I was willing to give it a try. Sunday (my night off) I was asleep, deeply deeply asleep at 2 a.m. when my cell phone rang. It was my supervisor who was ill and near tears asking if I could possibly go down to the restaurant. There was some big wig meeting with the higher ups, the suits behind the curtains, the real men in charge plus she needed inventory done. I said yes and flopped me legs over the side of the bed asking “when?” She answered “6 a.m.” and the only thing to do was to put on a big pot of coffee.

I made it through that day fine and then resumed my not a day shift, not a night shift . This morning after a long night I was finishing up some dessert items with my supervisor. She sent me over to the stove top to cook a fruit sauce and one of the chefs, not the big cheese chef, but maybe the medium cheddar? chef screamed at me to get out of his way. As I gathered my few items up I could feel tears spring to my eyes I was so stunned. As I made my retreat he shouted out again, “This is a big kitchen, you can find another place to make that!”(For the record, small kitchen for such a large restaurant, only one stove top, six burners) It was in my mind as I was walking back towards the tiny baker’s bench we work on to unbutton my chef jacket, to throw my company provided hat in the garbage and to just walk out. I went to my supervisor and told her I couldn’t make the cherry sauce . She took the pot from me and went and placed it on the stove top. No one said a work to her. She tried to make light of it, telling me that Chef Medium Cheddar was having a bad day. Funny, I was having a bad day all of the sudden too.

I worked on the tiramisu and after I’d finished that we started wrapping desserts. I placed our dirty dishes into our large mixing bowl (the one with wheels) and pushed it carefully through the maze of people into the dish room. As soon as I entered ,the dishwasher screamed, “I keep doing more and more dishes and more keep coming!” I was going to make a no shit type of comment but I looked at his red face, the spit flying, the wild eyes and got the fuck out of there. That particular dishwasher is one I don’t like to interact with as he either has some sort of mental retardation or he’s so fucked from too many years of drug use that he can barely function except to wash dishes and when he feels the need to talk, the subject of his prison records and list of felonies always comes up and the whole thing makes me shudder and think of that guy in Silence of the Lambs, “It rubs the lotion on its skin. It does this whenever it is told.”

Strangely, Buffalo Bill dishwasher came right up to me before I left and apologized. I respect that. Chef Medium Cheddar played everything is just fine and yelled out something I couldn’t hear about there being water on the floor, and where did it come from? as I walked away, no turning back.

Anyway, I am home now and heading toward the bed, but I just wanted to get this off of my chest. I haven’t told Alex and I don’t think I will because he always points out that I don’t stick up for myself and that I really should, but it’s very hard for me.

Why is it that my daughter Polly finds slugs disgusting, yet she will hold a snail and declare how cute he is and can she keep him? I mean, does the shell make one cute? Would a cute little turtle be ugly without his shell? Never mind, I just answered my own questions. Turtles aren’t cute, and I think I remember seeing Franklin without a shell during the days when I had to read the same books over and over to my kids until I thought I’d scream and he wasn’t cute either. Of course I could have said no, but back then I was very worried about being a wonderful mom. Now I am just hoping In Treatment comes back on soon because I want Gabriel Burne , sexually. I am like one of his patients, except I am not a doctor.

Speaking of doctors, a coworker of mine had an asthma attack the other night at work and then he started having a panic attack because he couldn’t breathe. I snapped at him, asking where his inhaler was. He replied that he kept it at home because he didn’t want to rely on it. If I had asthma I’d have an inhaler around my neck on a dog chain. I’d probably carry another one in my purse in case of malfunction.

I told him my CPR was rather rusty and he laughed and I offered him a Klonopin. I probably made the right decision when I decided not to go to Nursing School.

Speaking of shells, this would be a great time for a “to circumcise or not to circumcise?” fight in my comments. I personally agree with the idea of letting your son make the choice himself. As for looking at penises, I am indifferent. I don’t really have much interest in looking at penises. When I was in second grade my eldest sister took me to Plaid Pantry and led me to the Kool-Aid section. I thought she was going to buy Kool-Aid and I was all excited because my Mom only gave us juice, water or milk. Or tea, or beer. Pop on special occasions.Forget it, I was writing about penises. My sister reached way back and pulled out some magazine and opened it up to a naked man. He was sitting there looking off to the side with that expression on his face, who me? I am not sitting on this chair naked. I screamed when I realized what I was seeing and pointed at the picture and yelled out, “Oh my god! It’s a slug!” My sister shoved the magazine back as she clapped her hand over her mouth to cover the laughter.

to have gone missing for so long. I have been working constantly, as two of my fellow bakers have gone on vacation, and another one is slated to leave next week. Everything here is otherwise fine. I am just tired and feeling as if I have no life, but I can’t turn down the hours and I am sure it won’t be like this forever.

Meanwhile, tell me a little about yourself in the comments, if you’d like. Some of you have kindly emailed me and introduced yourselves. Others I have yet to meet. Or, if you don’t want to write about yourself, tell a joke, or tell me about something you cooked lately that was scrumptious, or something you did that was fun, or something you bought that was cool. Anything is fine.  And I didn’t understand Bonnie’s comment either. Bonnie?

“ Why must you always be around?
Why can’t you just leave it be?
It’s done nothing so far but destroy my life
You cause as much sorrow dead
As you did when you were alive”

SINEAD O’CONNOR You Cause As Much Sorrow

I worked the graveyard shift Saturday night. As I’ve mentioned before, I work with mostly men. A few of them are veterans, and hearing them tell their stories, if they even can, and seeing the consequences they are dealing with now as a result of seeing more violence in a few years than anyone should ever have to face in a lifetime is heartbreaking. One man told me not to come up behind him; he can’t handle it. I’ve tried to walk heavily when I am entering an area he’s working in. He told me of working as a medic in the combat zones and trying to come to terms with losing 80% of his men. He told me of shooting them with morphine when they were hit and holding their hands as they died because, as he put it, “no one should have to die alone out there.” I asked him if he was treating a fellow soldier with a fatal wound and that man asked if he was dying if he told them the truth, or no. He said he always told them they were going to make it, no matter what.

Another veteran soldier tells no stories, ever. He shakes his head “No” and walks away slowly. I wonder how they feel about the people who drive around with yellow ribbon stickers making statements “I Support Our Troops”. I know that they received training that they could parlay into other jobs but they hide on night shifts and don’t use their GI Bill for college, not yet anyway.

A couple of them have erupted at work, showing anger and frustration by throwing things, swearing, yelling. Me being me, with my own issues; I get scared when this happens. Saturday night when one man blew up I moved away quickly and tried to work in a far away area. There’s a new woman on the maintenance crew; she was on her first night. I was trying to breathe through a panic attack and fighting the urge to run out the door when she came up to me and asked, “What man did that to you in your life, made you afraid like that when someone yells?” I was a bit taken aback. We’d only been introduced once and her name had slipped out of my head as soon as I heard it.

“Your Daddy?” she pushed, and I just nodded, not wanting her to think I am in an abusive relationship now. She nodded back and smiled. “It’s gonna be O.K.”, she said as she walked away.

Later on we were all sitting outside on the patio chilling out and relaxing at the end of our shift. I decided to tell my coworker that it had scared me when he blew up like that. He looked surprised and then sad. “I’m sorry! Sometimes I just need to let off a little steam and then I am fine.” I nodded, but I felt better having said my truth.

The conversation switched to Father’s Day and everyone reminded everyone else, “Call your Dad and tell him I love you and thank you!” I remained silent. The woman whose name escapes me said, “My father is deceased, thank you very much.” She glanced over at me and asked, “You too?” I nodded in the affirmative and she asked me how old I was when it happened.

“Twelve”, I answered, “I usually call my Mom and wish her a Happy Father’s Day but she’s out of town this year.”

“Me too! I call my Momma on Father’s Day too!” and then she rose and sat right down beside me, pulling out her cell phone. She texted her Mom so I could see, “Happy Father’s Day, Momma. I love you.” and the reply came quickly. “Thank you baby. I love you too. Signed Daddy Momma”

As she picked up her belongings and prepared to leave she told me, “Every bit of fathering I needed I got from my Daddy Momma, even before he died when I was 17.”

I know what she means and even though my Mom is in Australia right now and I have no way of calling her because she’s traveling about the country I sent her an email when I got home from work on the off chance she might stop into an internet café or something. It took me a few years, but I’ve finally been able to convince my Mom that she can check her email from anywhere in the world. She thought that it lived inside of her computer only.

***

Thank you all for your wonderful dessert ideas and opinions. I printed everything out and I look forward to getting back into the kitchen to try out some new recipes. I get bored making the same old things every night so hopefully getting to play around with the dessert specials will help. The comments that even took the time to say sweet things about me and my writing were a pleasant surprise. Maybe I should ask you all for advice more often. Do you think that now that I have hit the ripe age of 35 I should cut my hair above my shoulders? What about the color? Continue to get it highlighted at a salon even though I can only afford to do it once a year and I always have roots, or go back to doing it at home the way I did when I was in my teens and twenties?

***

One last thing, before I go. For those of you who have been following my stories, ChefHisName called and offered me a job. I actually considered it for a second because it would be a Mon.-Fri. day shift, but it’s several dollars less an hour and the benefits aren’t as good. Plus, and this really sealed the deal, the job was as a breakfast cook and the thought of cooking eggs for 200+ people every morning is more than I can stomach. It was nice to learn that he wasn’t just feeding me a line of bullshit when he said he’d keep me in mind for another position.

You go out for a nice meal. What do you hope to see on the dessert menu? We have been running dessert specials so I am hoping to get some ideas in that will sell well. The chocolate lava cake was a big hit.

Any and all thoughts greatly appreciated.

I have known for quite some time that I have been drinking too much. There is admitting it to yourself and then there is the part where you actually admit it to yourself. I don’t know how to describe the difference. I guess I can say that although I knew that at times I was being excessive with it, I wasn’t willing to take any steps to change my behavior until I started to notice that alcohol was having negative effects on my life. So I decided to stop. I had a really bad headache for about four days and that gnawing anxiety like I was going to just chew my arm off if I didn’t get a drink into me, and quick, but now I am feeling better.

Now I can see things like how I always planned out what I was going to drink on my time off from work or when I went out. Just in the last few days I’ve felt that something was missing, and that is sad. I am hoping that soon I will feel better. I have been taking time to eat healthy foods and to drink lots of water.

I felt that now that I was really honest with myself I would be honest here too. I am going to drop the crutch and start hopping.

***

Ashleas, I did read your comment on my last post and it touched me deeply.I wasn’t sure how to respond. I know what you are saying and I wanted to say to you, “Go home and see your Dad.” but then I wasn’t even sure if that was the right thing to say. It’s always struck me as odd with all of the “How are you?”s and “Take Care”s that people throw around how little we reach out to those around us. I hope that you can find someone to talk to and a group if you want to be a part of one, but please know that you can always drop me a line and I am here to listen.

Bonnie, I hear you on the being hungry and still unable to take a half of someone’s sandwich when offered. I’ve been there, done that too. The part that kills me is if I found out that someone around me was hungry and felt as if they couldn’t ask me for help it would break my heart.

Just recently I’ve been having trouble eating anything (see part above about too much alcohol) . There are a few men who come in each night and clean the floors of the restaurant. I get a free meal each night as a perk of the job but I haven’t been eating anything. The other night it occurred to me that they might be hungry and so I threw together a meal and gave it to them to share and they were so incredibly grateful. Now if I see that one of the chefs is going to throw out food that is perfectly edible I’ll stash it away for when the maintenance guys come in and give it to them. I realize now when I see the excitement in their eyes over the food how hungry they were the whole time.

The other night I was being teased pretty heavily (which is par for the course in the industry) by one of my coworkers and I was getting pretty burned out on it when one of the maintenance guys stepped up and told the other man to lay off me. “I look out for her. Cut the shit.” was what he said. And then it was over. I can remember making eye contact and smiling but I don’t even know if I said thank you. I don’t know if if needed to, honestly. Sometimes I feel there are so many words and other times I think so much of it is total bullshit; we have actions so why the fuck is there so much useless talking?

Most of the men I work with have been very kind, but that one guy in particular I mention above seems to have gone above and beyond. I have to admit that I fear sometimes that this was motivated because he knows that I am not OK, that he can look at me and tell. I noticed the other day when I was alone in the kitchen that he rattled his belongings before he entered. I looked up and he said that he was trying not to scare me by popping up unexpectedly but he could see that he had failed. “I wasn’t scared”, I told him, “I was startled.” Then I laughed, because I wasn’t sure what the difference was. “Never mind me, I have baggage” I mumbled and he said “Yeah, me too”, and briefly I saw his hand rest across his heart.

I have been feeling out of sorts since I started working again. I think that it has something to do with being now forced out of my self imposed isolation back into life. I see people socializing everywhere around me; groups at fine restaurants with candlelight faces, huddles over morning coffee and scones. I feel at times a pull to be a part of a group once again. I haven’t been able to maintain a friendship in years. I don’t want to have to explain my sometimes total lack of ability to function. The real me shows through the cracks on the surface anyway. A coworker stops me at work the other night, “What’s wrong?” I told him I was just feeling mad, but then he wanted to know why, and I could only shrug and turn my face down until he walked away. I was hot, tired, had been in front of the oven for hours, and I was longing for a chance to take a break and to get something to drink. I thought of asking him to bring me some water but I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave the oven because otherwise I would burn something, and I couldn’t ask a fellow worker for a glass of water. He stopped by later and glanced at my face, checking for something. He broke out in the biggest smile I’ve seen in ages and I surprised myself by smiling back; a real smile. I searched for some meaning in the smiles but shoved it away, knowing my tendency to over think everything.

“I feel as if I have been standing in front of this oven for hours and hours.” I told him. “That’s because you have”, was his reply, because there are no clocks up there by the oven and I wasn’t really sure how long it had been. It was a busy night and time flew by.

Later he tried to arrange for me to get a ride home when I was finished but I brushed him off, telling him I had a bus to catch. I don’t want to get close to anyone again. I don’t want to make friends or have other people being concerned about my well being. I just want to hide in plain view.