Recaffeinated

 Today was my first day back in the restaurant after a two-week break for Thanksgiving and laminating. I arrived at 9am to discover I was the only one there. Normally bustling with activity at this hour, the kitchen felt lonesome and appeared shadowy and evil with no light. None of the equipment was whirring, heating, blowing, or steaming, so it was also soundless. Looking left, then right, and left again, I decided that my best option was to walk over to the schedule to see if I had a day off. I did not. Today was a special prep day, and there would only be five people working and I happened to be the first one there.

I got dressed in my chef’s coat and black trousers and clocked in. My first step on any early shift is to make coffee for everybody so I went into dry storage to find a giant filter and grounds for the huge Bunn water boiler, commonly used to make hot beverages for large groups.  I rounded the corner into the large pantry and browsed the shelf for my morning desires. There’s something puzzling about seeing letters and words that don’t make sense, and my eyes locked upon a troubling phrase: Decaf. Honestly, what the fuck does that even mean? Are you going to tell me that there’s a coffee that doesn’t work, and people drink it? Overall, there were six boxes of coffee including several brands and sizes of packages. All of them were decaffeinated and appeared to have been there for months, if not years.

I took a few minutes to look around and in a few different areas before I went to the head chef of Levy restaurants to lodge my complaint, but I came up empty. I found the chef in the produce cooler and I made my case: “Chef, I want to tell you a little story about myself.” Now, this is the guy that offered me a promotion a few weeks back, and has shown interest in my work and my sidesplitting sense of humor, so he sat down on a box of honeydew and motioned for me to continue.

“Chef I have literally only one vice in my life these days, and it’s coffee. I need coffee every morning to be productive and be at my best, both physically and mentally. So, when I walk into dry storage and see nothing but the term Decaf over, and over, it’s like you telling me to go fuck myself right when I get to work.”

He got up smiled, and said, “You can go in my office and get a K-Cup.” Always a man of few words, he returned to his work.

I excitedly nodded even though I wasn’t really sure what that was. I hesitated, but proceeded to the office anyhow. On the way I had several thoughts that maybe he was just messing with me, but then I remembered hearing about a fancy coffee maker called a Keurig that might possibly utilize something called a K-Cup. And sure enough, I found everything I needed in the office to make myself a fresh, hot cup of morning coffee—very quickly I might add—and get my day started.

 

As I mentioned above, I was working with only a small group today, and for the last few hours, I was at a prep table assembling meat-and-cheese skewers for a catering thing tomorrow, and we got to talking. As it turns out, he had been to prison and learned his lessons that way, too. He, like me, was sentenced to prison time for a first-time drug-offense, and did just over two years. We reminisced about how destructive the inside is to a person who really doesn’t belong there, and talked about people we know who are still inside. We connected on a level that most people can’t, and it was really nice to hear somebody talk about their experience behind the walls. We agreed that it would be good to work together whenever possible. Now, he’s not in recovery, but he’s also not out doing damage, so I think he could make a good ally. And that was my day.

It's possible that I look angry in this picture because of the poor quality of the camera on my computer.