When we think of a kitchen, generally we create an image in our mind of our kitchen at home. My kitchen was just a typical one except for the microwave was turned into a medicine cabinet because, if turned on, smoke and even flames would begin to come from the vents above it. There was little window cut out above the sink that saw into the living room right at the TV. It was a nice kitchen

In the context of a restaurant, a kitchen can take on a whole new meaning. It becomes a place where true identities are shown. It's a place where after repressing all the stress and rage in us during a hectic night of serving, we can air our grievances to one another. This complaining about other tables is the foundation of the waiting community. When we get stiffed on a tip or sat with a bunch of rude people, we don't tell the manager or another table, we tell our coworkers. We bond through our misery. If you've never worked in the restaurant business before, you can't really grasp the commraderie that develops as fellow waiters tell each other tales of horriffic tables and customers. We can't really help but develop relationships with people that we see everyday.

This is where we assume the role of being human. Of being annoyed at people, joking around with our friends, and bragging about tips. The kitchen has a mood to it. The stainless steel countertops, the sound of water constantly running, the chefs hollering at us and each other. It's an industrial site, and it reminds us we work for a corporation. It reminds us that we're all part of a machine, but a communal machine. It's a machine in which humans interact with each other and add a sense of feeling and emotion to the cold steel of the kitchen.

The kitchen is where we shed our pleasant "waiter" identities and become ourselves. Mean words are said, smiles aren't as prevalent, and people are stressing out.

Step Out Into the Floor

Home