the dishwasher

the lowest of the
low---
that last bottom rung on the descending ladder of restaurant staffing---
the
utter
bitch
of
the
kitchen---
s/he, who often referred to
without name,
simply as “dishbitch”---
the dishwasher wallows through another shift
(one in which the hours that they are scheduled always get exceeded by those that they must stay, in order to clean up after everyone else---that unfortunate aftermath of complete chaos which develops in one day at your typical restaurant).

sure,
when they hire you
your job description is to “wash the dishes & maybe help out in the kitchen a little bit when things are slow”
but you find out ever so quickly
within the duration of your first shift
that your responsibilities extend much further than those of
washing dishes
for you are the one that they go to when the boxes are needed to be broken down outside
(be it rain or shine & no matter what disgusting remnants of the restaurant “magic” still is left on the boxes in question)
you are the one that helps the prep-cook when they are “overwhelmed” with the work needed to establish an appropriate amount of stock for the evening’s obliterating hurricane (dinner being served)
that is,
when you have a dawdling, lackadaisical sloth for a prep-cook
s/he may “need” help
and you come scrubbing along, neglecting your own work (which only continues to pile up)
& let us remember that the prep-cook will leave at the end of the night at their scheduled time
with not a moment to spare
& not a minute over when they were originally scripted to work.

when you are the dishbitch
you are also the kitchen janitor
you clean up every scrap that falls from the waitresses, the bussers, the cooks, the pre-cooks, the manager, as well as the owner if they come
barreling through
(on their once-a-week visit to give the staff the illusion that they care or for that matter even have the first clue about what is actually going on in the kitchen)---
you have to remove all of the stock from the walk-in cooler
sneezing at the transition back and forth from the stifling hot kitchen to the freezing cold cooler---
you have to scrub every facet of the walk-in
mopping it &
spraying it down---
“when you have free time tonight”
that
managing
doorknob
will proclaim when you walk through the door in the early evening to clock in
and begin another night
where you wonder what you did with your life
(no matter how short or long it has been up to the exquisite moment that you decided to take this job---because dishbitches come in all shapes & sizes, all ages, all races, creeds & ethnicities---ah yes,
and when you step inside your proverbial hell each night you can take a deep breath and smell that human equality just seething through the place---it truly is the most peaceful & harmonious place in the free world).

um, no.

remember that there is a good chance that those that work with you
(the burnt out actors/actresses, those that dropped out of college for whatever reason, the ex-cons biting at their teeth trying each day to ignore the recidivism rate, those that have “been with the company for years” who do everything right and try to kiss every ass that they can in the upper corporate structure all in the hope of one day being upgraded to a better salary or a better position at least (one where they could trade their name tag for a tie)---the single mothers working two jobs to support the kids that they were left with when the scumbag dad ran off, etcetera.),
they
all hate their job too---
and they want to alleviate the stress as quickly as possible
so
when the bossman/lady leaves for the day
or maybe just
leaves the room
the bartender hooks up the kitchen staff with some medicinal liquids from the bar
and the staggering,
the yelling &
the screaming & slamming of things all in an opera of
“accidents”
throughout the evening
get urged on by the increasing alcoholism of the general kitchen staff
all roaming around your head
for as the
dishbitch
you must persist
you must endure
cleaning, helping and shutting down the evening
after they have all stumbled out
of the death-lair,
aka, the restaurant.

and while you drag the overfilled garbages out the back
heaving them over your own back
as they are always too heavy for any one
moderately strong human being
to handle
you think to yourself
i haven’t met a “career” dishwasher yet
there has got to be a way out of this place---
and the stark reality sets in,
the only reality that exists for people in your
position
is
that
you got ta take the heat or get out of the kitchen
take that heat
or get out of that
kitchen
now!!!

hot enough yet?