Work is Work

I used to think food services weren't that bad. My gig at the convenience store on campus was pretty sweet, but I could only ever work once a week.

This week, though, my roommate who's a slave to the company that handles all food on-campus convinced to help him make 800 sandwiches for an orientation event.

It wouldn't have been so bad if it was just the kind of job where you take ingredients and put them together and wrap them up like you're supposed to, but then you'd run out of ingredients like every half hour, and you'd have to find out where in the hell you're supposed to get more, so you have to find the one guy who knows anything about anything, but he is too busy helping the German chef who is BATSHIT CRAZY, so you need to find some OTHER cook who doesn't understand you to prepare the ingredients you need, and then wait around and pray to GOD that some manager doesn't find you and say "What are you just standing around picking your nose for?! Take these boxes to the loading deck!" because you know that some other guy who is bigger than you is going to be holding the service elevator and will tell you to step the FUCK off because what he has to do is a HOLY MISSION FROM GOD compared to whatever pissant errand that you were asked to do.

We encountered the chef (who is only known as "Chef" - literally nobody knows whether or not that's his real name) while we were on our way to clean up our station. He asked my roommate where his knives were, and he responded jokingly, "We lost them," and smiled. Then Chef did that threatening gesture that Viggo makes in Eastern Promises, where he points two fingers to his throat then points violently at my roommate.

Assuming I would know, he asked me earnestly, "Where's that from again?" and he performed the gesture again.

"Uh... Eastern Promises?"

"THAT'S RIGHT!" he said, grabbing my roommate by the shoulders, "So you'd better WATCH IT!"