i work food service, back of house. i like the people i meet in kitchens, the camaraderie, the honesty and the earthiness. this new wild man i’ve acquired is a dishwasher, and we’d be boring idiots if we didn’t take advantage of all the beautiful hidden corners that a commercial kitchen has to offer.
i’m carrying about 75 pounds of food in ungainly plastic trays. as i’m battling the metal door and plastic flaps that lead into the walk-in cooler he looks up from a cutting board. “you need some help with that?” yes. yes i do.
i have enough time to set my trays down on a milk crate before he makes his way in. the door closes, he looks around. then there’s a lunge and he’s yanking my hair and pushing me up against a rack by my throat, biting my lips and tongue, sliding a hand up my shorts to grab my ass and all of a sudden there’s a huge flash of blue and everything goes black.
what?
we’re so hot we blew a lightbulb.
i may gloat over this for months.
