They told me,
“The head chef isn’t here right now,
so could you come back in about
an hour?”
So I sat on a bench by the river,
waiting nervously.
Later, during the interview,
the head chef became interested
when he heard that I had studied
pastry.
And then, finally,
I got the job I had been hoping for.
In many Asian restaurants,
there was an unspoken understanding
that people would often be made to
work for less than the minimum wage.
And because people needed to survive,
they would accept it.
That was why being hired by this
Italian restaurant made me
incredibly happy.
The hourly wage was proper, too.
On weekends,
working in a restaurant with
400 seats was like being on
a battlefield.
The chefs standing on the front line
of service in the kitchen
had to be able to predict what was
coming and work with absolute
accuracy.
If you made a mistake,
you would be yelled at without mercy
and taken off your section.
My weakness was that I would cry.
And then I would feel frustrated
with myself for crying,
which only made the tears
keep coming.
It was such a vicious cycle.
But once the service was over,
everyone was completely fresh
and clear about it,
as if nothing had happened.
And somehow,
that felt really good.
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