You know, one or the other, whatever seems more accurate.
Hello world. Welcome to the play-by-play of my foray into the culinary world.
Last September, I traded in my desk job to be a dishwasher. I said goodbye to a steady income and paid sick leave and vacation days, put my 401K on hold, and cast off my grade-A PPO plan for a waterproof apron and a bain marie of steel wool. It was a move I’d been contemplating for a while in order to get my foot in the door of a professional kitchen, having had no prior food industry experience of any sort.
This is a story I’ve told countless times by now, as almost everyone I meet seems flabbergasted that I’d willing give up a well-paid career of sitting-on-my-ass for late night hours of thankless dish-slinging. It’s not as though there was anything wrong with my desk job, per se–surely, there’s nothing inherently wrong about a job where you surf the Internet all day and are compensated handsomely for it. But what kept nagging at me was that old-fashioned idea of–correct me if I’m describing it wrongly due to its archaic obscurity–having a career that is an actual reflection of your passions.
I know, it sounds crazy. I’m just a rebel like that. And I can say with certainty that the working souls I personally know who fall into this category are few and far in between. But once I became tickled by the idea of being a career dream-chaser as well, I could not shake it loose.
(Dun dun dun!) To be continued…
What a cliff-hanger, right?