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A Day in the Life of a Line Cook By Michael Simpson Staff Writer Timers beep frantically, there’s a clamor of voices all speaking to me at once; “where’s the mushroom burger for table 12?” “Can I get more fries than this guys? I want to get a tip you know…” “The guy at table six says that you overcooked his steak-again!” “c’mon guys, this order has been waiting for that side salad for 15 minutes already!” I have been at work for twenty minutes. 7 hours to go.
So far I’ve only burned my hands once on a hot pan handle (why the whole thing is made of steel, I don’t know), and narrowly missed a spattering of hot grease from some calamari coming out of the deep fryer. I’ve been lucky so far. The restaurant gods will get me later on tonight I’m sure, however. Maybe I’ll slice my fingers open frantically trying to prep some lettuce because we ran out during the dinner rush, or maybe a dollop of hot tomato linguini sauce will bubble and pop in front of my face as I pile the pasta onto a plate. We’ll see…