I needed to shake my writing habits up I’ve been caught up not so much in a theme or echoing subjects but some things I write about spits out an abundance of emotions and I’m feeling low key today.

It’s Father’s Day today and on these Hallmark holidays I often think about what I would be doing right now if I was still in the fox holes of the service industry. It’s 6:40am right now I’d be procuring around 60 fruit cups or swirling poached eggs in a simmering pot of vinegar water *shudders. Perhaps a 5 gallon vat of stone grits. Father’s Day is always second runner up to Mother’s Day as far as restaurant volume goes but not by much. I’ve worked my fair share of these holidays I’d say at least 25 of them. Even charcuterie gets into some of these although not nearly the same volume. I chose not to engage this year. I’m getting smarter with age.

I’m fairly well known for my dishwasher adventures. Particularly Southern always being the culprit. I eliminated the dishwasher position at Habitap when I opened it in a throw the hands in the air “I give up we are all fucking dishwashers here!”

My first job at 15 I was a dishwasher at Quincy’s. I lasted a week before my parents made me quit. I wouldn’t get off of well until midnight and one of the midnight hours I could be found with a beer can in my hand. Actually my stepfather found me with a beer can in my hand while his truck sat in the dark corner of the parking lot and that was all she wrote folks. It would seem he was privy to how kitchens operate after hours.

Real short story when I went to grab my only check from Quincy’s the manager told me I couldn’t have it because I quit with no notice. I said ok and told my stepfather who had driven me to pick it up. Two minutes later we were driving back home with my paycheck in hand.

I’ve never had a problem washing dishes. I’ve bar-backed at the old Sand Flea in the late 80s, washed dishes at an old broke ass night club hotel right off of Mauldin road, bailed many a dishwashers out at the Blockhouse and Arizona when I closed so I could grab a drink before all the bars closed.

I’ve earned my stars.

“Chad, why have you had so many problems with dishwashers?”

I don’t think I’ve had an irregular amount of dishwasher drama more so than after so many years the patterns just wore me down. If I had 200 dishwashers about three were reliable. This isn’t a position people go to school for. You don’t acquire an MBA for dish maintenance.

I get it and no I’m not downplaying the importance of a dishwasher. Have one walk out on in the middle of a Saturday night rush and you’ll see exactly what I mean.

I needed a break from my mental health journaling so I wanted to turn some old dishwasher trauma into some humor. Most of it didn’t seem funny at the time but I’ve made my peace with it.

Mostly

The Drunk Ones

It wasn’t until I worked in the kitchen at the Blockhouse that I discovered that it’s not unusual for employees to come in lit as a rocket. I don’t mean drinking a beer for lunch and then going into work I mean having a good ol time at a cookout with a side of vocation breaks in between. It was common to watch the dishwasher walk across to the liquor store, soaking wet apron still tied around the waste, dripping with sweat (not sure why from the speed of their work) and grabbing a bottle of whatever $6 handle they could afford. I had one dishwasher there who slung dishes for about two years that I couldn’t understand one word out of his mouth because he maintained perpetual brain annihilation during his shift. He actually complained to Charlie about me for taking his six pack of Budweiser he had stashed away on top of the dish machine.

Charlie “you need to control your kitchen better”

Me- “why do you think I’m taking his beer away from him?”

The beer cooler was locked tighter than the safe. If the bartenders left the cooler door unattended for more than three seconds cases of beer would be slung out of the back door. I’d go out to the parking lot like a fucking Easter egg hunt to find hidden beers under cars, behind trash cans or just resting in the back pockets of jeans like an extended can of skoal.

Imagine this being your first KM experience.

I didn’t experience much drama or trauma other than that frequently you’d go back into the dish pit because the servers would start raising hell about pint glasses running out and realize the dishwasher dipped out for the day. I don’t have too many good things to say about Willie but he was good for closing the dishwasher up at night if the dish guy ditched.

Arizona

We had a steady pez dispenser of Hispanic dishwashers at the steakhouse. For each one that didn’t show up I could make a quick phone call to my dishwasher dealer and he’d have another one there in less than an hour. I never asked where he got them or who they were. I didn’t care as long as I didn’t have to do high volume dishes while trying to maintain a 300 cover night. I had few characters I could’ve done without. There was John, who I allowed his radio in the dish pit while he worked as long as he kept it low enough that the restaurant couldn’t hear his repeated shuffle of System of the Down. Each hour he worked the jam box got louder. Each hour I’d go back and turn it down and each hour he’d huff and puff and slowly turn it back up again. We did this for about 6 months. I had much more patience in my 20s. Later I’d fire him for leaving his bowl he had made out of a Russel potato in the freezer.

Drama was low key. Steakhouse ran smooth in the early days. There was one episode a dishwasher had enough and walked out on a Friday night. I spent the evening closing the dish pit. It wasn’t my first rodeo in this situation I had adjusted to this behavior but it didn’t mean I accepted this as a standard as of yet.. The KM allowed him to return to work the next night. I had two rules I still stand by to this day. I don’t rehire you if you’ve stolen from me or if you walk out on me.

I absolutely will not bend on these. The KM didn’t get that memo and allowed him to come back. When I expressed my opinion seeing as I had closed the pit down the previous evening after he (km) had already left for the day he only scoffed and said “now you know what it’s like working in the pit”

The KM and I had a brief discussion outside and the dishwasher was released immediately. The KM also found out that night what it was like working in the pit. We closed that dish pit together that night it needed some extra detail cleaning.

Southern/LTO

Ok now here we go with some fun. It seems the longer I lingered in the service industry the more my dish techs started bending me over the edge of my sanity.

In my 8 years at Southern I only had one dishwasher last more than a year. I don’t count first guy I’ll introduce next even though he was labeled a dishwasher he was more of an afternoon custodian that would sweep and mop the floors before service and wash dishes two nights a week. He worked off and on for us for about 5 years part time during his tenor before finally being asked to leave. As a worker he was solid, dependable and diligent. As a human being he was a pain in the fucking ass. I’m not going to use any names it’s not necessary and I’m sure anyone that worked at SC for more than 10 minutes would know exactly who I’m referring to. I have absolutely nothing against this individual other than he was the nosiest mother fucker you’ll ever meet.

*note I’ve calmed down my colorful language recently but to get into this groove I have to bring some of the old Chad out. He fits here and will go back to resting when I’m done.

The paradox of this individual was he is a minority but was somewhat quietly racist towards any of other minority that worked with me. He was also deaf. He could read lips but badly and often times misinterpreted what you were trying to say. If he didn’t understand what you were trying to say he just thought you were being an asshole to him and often times I was because he’d earn it honest.

As a person he was quite the asshat.

A deaf Prima Donna with a superiority complex.

If you were a minority you were stealing (in his eyes). Many a times as I was drifting off to blissful sleep I’d get a text from him with some obscure pic of an employee walking to their car with purse or apron in their hand. Nothing else, no subject matter or context. The next day I’d come into work and he’d wave his arms furiously and that would mean I’m about to lose 15 minutes of prep time as he goes over his theft conspiracies. He’d point at the pic he sent me and grunt. I’d throw my hands up with a “proof?” and he’d point at the purse and grunt angrily.

I’d repeat it again -“PROOF?” and he’d throw his hands down, hiss at me and walk away.

Sometimes he’d grab my arm, pull me to the front to show me an employee walking out with a bag of food that I personally witnessed the purchase. He almost got me into a fight with the entire kitchen staff of Mojos for accusing food trades with my kitchen and theirs. This was before I’d figured out he was a lunatic. The dishwasher not the owner of Mojos although that fits too. Ive had a thing with neighbors for half of my life.

The dishwasher hated my chef at that time and well, so did half of my kitchen for that matter he’s responsible for most of my grey beard hairs. They had an argument one morning and my deaf dishwasher made a brief charade of what could only be a large rifle in his hands and made a loud “POWPOWPOW!” with his grunts. I guess he could speak sound effects. There were times I’d say his name behind him and he’d turn around. We ain’t talking bass frequencies here folks I’d just say his name aloud and he’d turn around.

Deaf my ass..

My favorite part was when I’d go take a quick catnap on one the sofas next to the fire place in between shifts, he’d take candid photos of me and send them to my partner. Like he was reporting me for sleeping on my sentry job. I’m sure some other asshat in the company tried to use him to spy on me at times so he thought it was ok to do his own recon. After he took a candid photo of my wife while she bartended one night and it got back to me we had one discussion about it and he didn’t stick around much longer after that.

I miss him like a flat tire in the middle of a hot desert.

I hired one guy when we first opened. He had one eye and a fake on that was much larger. It almost looked as if he had fabricated one from a large marble he had found in a play-set and painted an iris on it. The only reason I’m making fun of him is because he was also an asshat. This seemed to be a common theme. He liked to discuss his female conquests while he slung dishes around as Barry and I listened to him dubiously. He must’ve been hung like an Evian bottle because it sure wasn’t his personality or looks. He resembled Chunk from Goonies except he was only 5’7”.

Listen, this was the service industry y’all, no one is safe from insults. Especially if you’re an asshole.

His voice was high pitched, like Mr. Hanky from South Park. On busy nights you could hear him mumbling “y’all be using dishes for some bullshit”.

He lasted about two weeks before going MIA. This is usually the proper route of exodus for my dishwashers. A two week notice is like finding a 12 leaf clover. If a dishwasher hasn’t shown up within an hour of their shift I just assumed their time had run out.

I had a morning dishwasher while we tried lunch at Southern. He’d get weeded during our $300 lunches.

We had one we dared to drink a cup of Worcestershire sauce and he spent the day lying on the floor so he wouldn’t vomit. Sometimes we’d get some ganache and spread it on the toilet seat in the men’s room. “Cmon guys! I know the difference between shit and chocolate!” I say “we” but it was mostly my kitchen staff.

Sometimes it was we..

I had one threaten me bodily harm for throwing out his sippy cup of bourbon into the kudzu behind Southern. “That’s my kid’s favorite cup!” That was his logic.

I invited to help him into the kudzu to find it.

I had a rather large woman wash dishes for three weeks. By large I mean Lawrence Taylor not the Nutty Professor. She was 6’2” and a solid 240lbs. She got frustrated one night and started breaking dishes. I had to go calm here down and I’ll admit for a moment there I thought I was going to throw hands with a woman. And I wasn’t sure what that outcome would’ve been. I had in my mind that I may have to clip a knee to bring her down. She calmed down, went for a smoke and disappeared into the sippy cup kudzu I assume because she never came back. It’s always fun on a Friday night when you leave the line to drop off 20 blazed sauté pans and the dish pit was abandoned.

If I had a dollar..

Well, of course she found her way back long enough to get her paycheck. Speaking of last paychecks I could do a whole ass blog on just those experiences.

I once folded an ex employee’s check into a paper airplane and threw it at them. This was years ago during my steakhouse tenure.

The temps we would call in were hit and miss. Some were ok but they never stuck around. Once they got comfy I’d have to let them know that cash buyouts were no longer an option and they’d disappear. I had one with Tourette’s that would let out a resounding “fuck!” about every two minutes. Still well below par of most of my line cooks. And myself for that matter.

Had another one that had a giant swastika on the back of his leg. I declined his return.

Had another guy that went a little viral on some tv talent competition. And later went viral for using the N word. He was an odd ball. He walked out crying after one of my line cooks called him a little bitch. The line cook ended up being my dishwasher until I could fill in the gaps again.

Listen

I

Don’t

Miss

The

Service

Industry

At

All

Had a confrontation with a dishwasher because he was using his phone while in the dish pit. All I said was “if you’re going to use your phone take it outside.There are line cooks walking behind you with hot pans. If you can’t hear “behind you” you’ll get burnt.”

He called me a slave trader which got a glass rack thrown in his direction. I didn’t know there were glasses in the rack and a few of them shattered causing the entire kitchen to freeze. He stormed out of the kitchen. Later on he would start an argument with me on Facebook and tell me he’d “see me around soon”. I saw him around soon after at a local grocery store and he did the sharpest 90° angle I’ve ever seen.

If I had another dollar for how many ex employees threatened to kick my ass.. That may make a nice blog too.

Had another dishwasher I had to wake up while he napped on the patio. He had stayed up all night playing video games. “Are you sending me home?” Oh no sir you’re not getting out of work that easy. A month later he walked out on a Thursday night. I called his mother up and she told him he had to come back to work. He had the nerve to call my cellphone and ask me to come pick him back up from his house at 7pm.

My longest tenured dishwasher was not terrible. He liked to borrow things from the kitchen. Utensils, dishes, food, my Bluetooth speaker etc. One night after work he got smacked by a vehicle on his moped as he was leaving. (He’s fine except for a permanent limp.) One of my managers went to assist and found steaks, pork chops and some plates scattered all over Pleasantburg. He had them stashed into his saddlebags. As an employer I’ve always been loose with employees eating my food. No one should ever be hungry working at a restaurant.

All I ask is that you ask first.

He probably broke more plates than a Greek wedding. Sometimes I’d stand behind him without him realizing it and listen to him fantasize about killing me while he slammed dishes around. My fondest memory is when he left at exactly 3pm on Mother’s Day (my km had him scheduled to leave at 3 and by golly he did. Brunch ended at 3 also. He didn’t close up. 3pm he left. I spent the next two hours shoring up dish before dinner service. It was a mild 90° outside as I was taking all the trash he left on the back dock. One bag ripped open and I got a body wash of garbage and week old chicken brine.

Head to toe.

I rushed home to change my clothes including my socks they were soaked. I got back ten minutes after dinner service started and the kitchen was already crashing

And

The pm dishwasher no called no showed.

I could write a thousand more words on this position.

One guy came into work so drunk he bazooka barfed all the way from dish to the restroom one hour into his shift.

What a time to be alive.

Ask me again why I got burned out from the service industry.

I think I’m done here. This brought back some wonderful memories. I can almost hear $18 ovals of China shattering on the floor and cast iron pans going through the dishwasher.

Speaking of the dishwashers themselves, they only breakdown on the weekends. Ecolab won’t even look at me anymore after making them tear their dishwasher out of my restaurant on a Saturday afternoon. What’s with those fucking white lab coats anyway? Hot water heaters going out while we boiled hot water on eye burners so we could close down dish.

Man I miss it

I miss all of it..

Being the butt of old dishwasher jokes never got old.

“Are you ever going to open up another restaurant?”

Nah

I think I’m good yall.

Cheers