Part 12: That which does not kill us makes us stronger.
This is the latest installment in a continuing series that documents my personal quest to become the host of my own cooking show. Since this is a relatively new “career,” there are no vocational programs or community college courses to prepare me for it. From what I have seen, the two most important elements in securing such a position are passion for food and plain old dumb luck. Born with a passion for food, I set out to make my own luck.
That which does not kill us makes us stronger.
So twice now I have been the victim of cutbacks that resulted in my losing a dream job. What’s worse, to pay the bills I am having to work as a server at one of the very corporate cookie cutter restaurants that has ruined the dining experience in this country. Why this particular restaurant? Because it is the most popular restaurant in the city and that means more money. Why is it the most popular restaurant in the city? Sure, the food is bad and the management treats the customers like cattle, but I love the salad and bread sticks.
So day in and day out I put on their goofy outfit. I hock their mediocre wine and do my best to describe the trans fat laden food so that it sounds enticing. The conventional wisdom is that you cannot describe a dish unless you taste it, but this is one of the dirtiest restaurants I have ever seen. I am genuinely apprehensive of putting anything in my mouth while at work save water from a drink-and-drop cup. Rather than lie, I sidestep:
Customer: How’s the rollatini?
Me: It’s one of our most popular specials. There’s been talk of putting it on the menu full-time.
I am miserable. To make matters worse, my pal Wade and his TV production crew have abandoned their small screen projects (like my cooking show) in lieu of making independent movies. It can’t possibly get any worse, can it?
Apparently the answer to that question is always yes.
The recession that has been quietly building momentum becomes a tsunami. Gas prices sky-rocket. Many people stop dining out; those that don’t, stop tipping. I go from making $75 – $100 a shift to making $10, but since I used to make more Uncle Sam keeps taxing me like a beast. The paltry hourly wage that servers receive in this country ($2.13/hour) doesn’t cover their tax burden, even during a good economy.
Convinced I have to get out of this crappy job, I start scanning the classifieds. Two years earlier, the restaurant jobs took an entire page. Now you can count them on one hand. Day after day, nothing. I am getting desperate. A month goes by with no chef positions available, then two, then six. Now I am willing to take anything to get away from stupid salad and bread sticks.
One day there is an ad for a cook at a struggling café not too far away. On Wednesday, I e-mail my resumé. On Thursday, I get a phone interview. On Friday, I get a sit down interview. And on that Saturday, I start my new job as the Executive Chef of Mars Hill Café.
