I grew up going to work with my mom.
When that meant going to school reform meetings, I was… less than thrilled (woo equity!) but on weekends, more often than not that meant brunch shifts at the restaurant.
I filled jam jars, ran drinks, snuck into Mickey’s vat of tapioca pudding and watched the line churn out heaping plates while trying to breath in air thick with the smell of the best, crispiest homefries that will ever cross my tongue… without drooling.
I miss that time in my life.
I need to be in a restaurant again.
Everything in my life moves slower than that kitchen ever did and given my obvious A.D.D., that ain’t great.
I miss everything but the dirty mats, whose holes clogged with half cooked potatoes, tomato guts and congealed yolks.
What was I trying to tell you again? Oh yeah…
This blog is going to be about food first and foremost because that is where my heart is and where words find me. But I’m also going to tell you about my job hunt. I know there are a lot of people out there, like me, looking for work and scraping by with odd jobs. So I’m going to tell you, Internet, whatever seems vaguely helpful. And then I’ll probably uselessly rant a bit about prospective employers who, maybe a little bit, lead people on. ‘Cause, rude.
And though sometimes I’ll be poetical, I’ll doubtlessly counter those slips with butt jokes. There’s no need to panic. I ain’t fancy, Internet. I just feel like over-sharing regrettably.
Get excited kids, ’cause this shiz in gonna be straight up deloicious.