Another night on the line. Mostly room service and the bar which doesn’t create much action on the sauté station. We had one 6-top that started out as complainers so G. mostly handled that one. As he put it, he’d rather his butt be on the line if things went badly. I did manage to burn the hell out of my hand, a good stripe on the palm and two lovely blisters to match on my index and middle fingers. Luckily the burns are on my left hand but that doesn’t make them less painful only less inconvenient. Had I burnt myself so badly at home, I probably would’ve gotten a little teary and Keifel would have dragged out the toothpaste or lopped off some of our aloe plant before I got blisters. Last night, I stuck my hand in the sink and tried to look nonchalant.
Though I know the line isn’t for me, I will be taking some valuable lessons away from my month with the guys. Speed matters and the only way to gain speed is to practice which you can really only do at work. Know where everything is, there isn’t time to look for anything when the tickets are printing. Organization is key, not only knowing where it is but having things arranged in a way that contributes to flow. Burning yourself happens, even if you’re really good. I have also learned speed potato peeling, crab cake and fish flipping, how to sear a steak on both sides at the same time, and that a soft toothbrush is the best way to get the ground-in dirt out of your finger prints. (Actually that last one came from my mom.)
It would be dishonest to say that I haven’t enjoyed myself. The guys on the line are great to work with and I have learned a great deal from them. I have never been so bloody exhausted though in my life. Everyday I feel like I come home and crash. Even when we are slow, I feel pretty ramped up, adrenaline pumping, waiting for the printer to start and the grease to fly. I can honestly say that if I never work on a line again, I’d be okay with that.
