Yack 4

© The Totton linnet. All Yack stories are now subject to copyright

KITCHEN QUEENS

Kitchen Queens

I’ve alluded in an earlier story about my time in work experience, that is 6 weeks of the school term where you actually get to go into a real place of work as a staff member, of course I can’t say the exact name or location of the place where I worked simply to say it was a catering operation within a very large “set up” and of course no names can be mentioned. But this was a time of great and amazing dizziness for me, whatever romantic illusions I might have had regarding what “the real world” of work might be like were swept away for ever, chucked in at the deep end is a phrase that springs readily to mind. Nor was it the job alone, the sudden having to be there at 7.30 in the morning with the prospect of still being there at 5.30 in the evening…of the job itself, later, but it was the sudden change of environment from the coddled class room to the work place mostly inhabited by men aged from between 18 upwards to 60s and just a handful of women and the only girls of my age, ME although at various times younger women would appear on the scene from various temp agencies. Every so often one dear sweet lady [we'll call her Louise] whose main job in the kitchen/canteen operation was the “dob up” she used to come up to me when the guys were cussing and blinding and talking ”stuff” and she would gently put her hands over my ears and say in severe tones to them ”young ears.” Louise was one of two kitchen queens the other Doris, by queens I mean that they had worked there since the days of yore, while multitudinous numbers of other staff came and went others coming to fill their places Louise and Doris remained and although they held no managerial titles or responsibilities you had better believe me when I say if Louise or Doris told you to do something you did it, if they told the ranks of management to do something they jumped to it, and if they said a thing was so, it was so, you don’t mess with the Dorises or the Louises of this world.

When I suddenly appeared on the scene Louise cocked her head somewhat and bent her brow and I thought oops, I was very glad when Doris said  “come on luvvy you can work with me” and whenever I passed in front of Louise’s watchful eyes I felt like ducking or maybe if I curtseyed or something she sure seemed to frown down on me. We used to wear unimaginably thin plastic aprons over our standard uniforms, after a couple of days of cocking her head and frowning and bending her brow as I passed by she suddenly reached out and grabbed [she had the most amazingly muscular arms] she grabbed the top of my apron and ripped it off me in one savage downward wrench “get a new one” she snarled and the ice broke and everyone fell apart laughing I was in the team. 

AN INSPECTOR CALLS 

An inspector calls

One of my first exploits was to build a honey trap for wasps, very simple an empty margarine tub thoroughly washed out, an inch thick layer of honey and a couple of wasp size holes in the lid strategically placed on the window sill will do the trick every time. Until the company health advisor calls that is, he is not at all to be confused with the health inspector of “Her Majesty’s” sort, he is a different animal altogether and wields enormous power in any food related industry breathing such fear into any proprietors of such that they will employ their own health advisors to make sure all health laws and bye laws and the myriad of regulations are adhered to and complied with, it was this second breed of inspector we have in view here, still not a personage to be taken lightly or in any way messed with.

And of course however excellent to the purpose my little honey trap was it contravened the health and safety laws upon several grounds, the first and most obvious one [to those who are in the know about such things] the health inspector whose name just happened to be Mr Roach [ 'Roach ]  could not help but to notice as soon as he entered the pantry for Her Majesty has stated quite categorically that all window sills must be kept free of all objects and personal effects and there on the window sill was “an object” old ‘Roachie approached the afore mentioned sill with slitted eyes and the posture of a lioness about to pounce “and what do we have here?” he enquired in his most inspectorly nasal twang. He soon found out because, gentle people, a honey trap once set in position is best left undisturbed the more especially as the day wears on and many visitors have come but not gone but have managed to immerse themselves up to their jaspery waists in stickiness. But the inspector did not leave it undisturbed he took hold of the offending “object” in a rather triumphant manner and as he lifted it from the sill it buzzed causing him to jerk his hand which in turn caused the lid to fly off, I must tell you shamefacedly that my last view of old ‘Roachie was him swatting the air wildly and fleeing the pantry being hotly pursued by at least two of the former inmates of my honey trap, I legged it.

The gauntlet

THE GAUNTLET

Doris took me took her heart, I think she thought she was me mum and I must say in those first weeks of work “experience” there were times when I was pretty glad of her protectiveness, there were a couple of times when I think I actually drew behind her like a duckling behind mamma duck . Almost nothing could have prepared me for the “daily gauntlet,” if I thought the guys in the kitchen were a little on the rough and ready side their behaviour was like the church ladies picnic in comparison with what was to come.

Part of Doris’s daily duties involved making up lunch trays of sandwiches and coffee etc for certain members of the management team who for one reason or another could not make the staff canteen, these would be made up fresh and then at the appropiate time carried to their offices in adjacent or nearby buildings. One such manager was the engineers manager and his office could only be reached by actually going through the engineer’s workshop. I shall never forget the first time I walked behind Doris into that place, a great raucous cheer went up with wolf whistles and catcalls and shoutings out of the most lewd and ribald sort, I wondered what on earth had happened to cause such an outburst of male bawdiness, we were fully half in towards the desired haven of the manager’s office and some one behind me was shouting more loudly and lustfully than the rest, I turned around and it hit me with a wham that his whistles and his gesticulations were for me, I nearly fell through the floor, indeed I wished the floor would open and swallow me up whole as the dreaded hot flush came over me, I don’t think a beetroot could have been redder than I was. I was so thankful for Dove eyes, his work bench was right at the end just to the side of the office door and when he saw us he moved smartly to the door and opened it for us, he had not joined in the ribaldry and as I passed by him his eyes had such a look of softness and kindness as though he was apologising for his mates behaviour. I later found out his name was Jeremy.

Every day this little gauntlet had to be run and I knew if I could fix my attention on Dove eyes at the far end of the workshop then I could walk with a semblance of confidence, and each day he would walk smartly to the door and hold it open for us, a proper gentleman he was, and he would give me a friendly wink as I passed by him.

Then on the Friday Doris rolled her sleeves up, she had had enough of it, she saw how my head went down when she called me over to help her with trays, “you wait there sweetheart” she said ”I’ll be back in a minute” and she marched out the door, soon she returned and I found out quite a bit later that she went over and read the riot act to the shamefaced engineers ”haven’t you got daughters or sisters still at school?” she yelled and a good bit more with a bit of fist waving and general carrying on. When we went over with the trays from that time on there was no more ribaldry but neither did Jeremy rise from his place as before with his friendly smile and with the eyes of the dove, nor either did he look up as we passed by his bench and my heart panged.

The Yank

THE YANK*  [see note at the bottom of the post]

Another defining moment in my work experience occured the day “the Yank” paid a visit. At some recent point in the history of the parent company [to which "our" catering organisation was franchised to] it had been taken over by an american company who of course came in with a new executive management and new ideas and this new set up included the catering department so it was that we were prone to be suddenly invaded by topline American businessmen and they usually came unannounced.

It was a most peculiar set of circumstances and combination of events which led to situation of me being sole and only member of the catering department on duty for just a 30 minute period at the end of my shift. But gentle people 30 minutes is ample time when we are discussing yours truly in which the most dire and unfortunate mishaps may occur.

Suddenly he was there in the kitchen, he looked as though he had just stepped off the plane from Hawaii with his checked pants and short sleeved blue blouse every inch of what an English person expects an American businessman to look like, the way he spoke and behaved also had something of a whiff of one of Havana’s finest cigars about it. He was unwrapping a piece of equipment in the kitchen which I soon discovered was an American tenderising machine, the idea was you fed the top of the machine with a piece of steak that was so tough that you could sole the shoes on your feet with and this wonder machine would so batter and shred and grind it on it’s journey to the bottom chute where it would slide out as fresh and tender as a baby’s bum, that was the theory. “Miss I want this machine wired and up and running right away” the Yank drawled, just like that and he was gone. I was stunned, I hadn’t dreamt that he would actually condescend to speak to me still less that he would click his fingers and give me a job to do, I stood in front of the machine now hoping somehow it would give me some sort of clarification. Now I didn’t want no Yank to think I was some “dumb ass broad” I knew how to wire a plug everyone knows the code “live, brown bear on the green, green earth against the blue, neutral sky” right? I picked up the plug and the cable, there was no live brown-green earth or blue neutral there was just a red lead and a black lead, the last words he had spoken resonated in my brain “right away miss…ah haven’t you done that simple job I asked you to do miss…? right away” CLICK I imagined his fingers and it made me jump. Right I thought this is easy peasy red must be live the same as brown and black must be neutral same as blue so all I had to do is screw in the red where the brown wire should go and the black where the blue should go, why was I sweating. 

My little luvvies I have to tell you a little trick the Americans have when it comes to electrics, I didn’t know it then but I was about to discover it for although it’s perfectly true as I had worked out the red wire coresponds with our brown and indeed the black coresponds with our blue,the trick they have is that they reverse the live and the neutral from left to right exactly opposite to the order that we wire a plug, I had wired the damned thing back to front.

These Yanks do everything in a sudden for suddenly he was back just as I was finishing my last job of the day stacking cups. He was there at the tenderising machine he grabbed the plug and rammed it into the wall socket and BANG there was a huge orangy yellow flash “what the blue blazes…where is that girl” That girl was legging it down the stairs to the ladies cloakroom I was off.

*

A note to American readers, I can’t remember a time in my life when I did not love America and American people  

Suddenly Jeremy

 

Aloyisius is an unlikely name for a horse, he was an ex racing horse now put out to stud. Besides being incredibly handsome he was also noted for certain eccentricities, none of which of course the Hampshire county council could be expected to take into account when, with the wisdom that they have, they decided to erect a bus shelter serving a more remote and rural area so that the denizens of the local primary school [the main beneficieries of the afore mentioned bus shelter] no longer need turn up for lessons looking like drowned rats and with chattering teeth but when the weather was inclement they could huddle together under such shelter as the little wooden hut afforded. There were a few other beneficieries, the odd pensioner or housewife off to town to do the family shopping and me. This is where after a hard day’s toil and graft scrubbing pots and pans with at least an inch burnt on lasagne on the bottom and other such duties thought suitable for a “schoolie” on work experience I would walk the quarter mile or so to the bus shelter and wait for the bus to take me home.

Now this bus shelter I keep banging on about was erected between a gap in the hedge of the field where Aloyisius lived and for some reason that only Aloyisius could tell you it was against the wishes of Aloyisius that there should be any bus shelter abutting his field and one morning when all the local luvvies were scrummaged together in there scrawling rude words and the most vile insinuations about their geography teacher upon the plank of wood that served as a seat there came an absolutely earshattering crash of such thunderous magnitude that it sent them fleeing in terror to their respective homes, some were reported to have arrived home in a distressed state and with soiled underwear, this almighty thundering crash was swiftly followed up by another and another and it was this third crash that brought the whole wooden apparatus down in a heap of dust and splinters. The culprit of course was Aloyisius, he had neither been asked nor consulted about any erecting of wooden bus shelters abutting his field and now he was letting everyone know what his democratic views on the matter were, he was having none of it.

Now of course all of this meant we were all reduced to waiting for the bus in whatever weather the heavens decided to throw at us. So there I was 17. 40 pm one evening standing like a lonesome sparrow in the rain waiting for the bus feeling more miserable by the minute when amazingly a Knight in shining armour and riding a beautiful white steed galloped up, nah it was a red vauxhall but who cares for the window wound down and I was looking into none other eyes than my Dove eyes, you could have knocked me down with a feather ” hello Susanne” the vision spoke and he had learned my name, “want a lift?” well he didn’t need to ask twice although I fumbled the door and managed to step into a six inch puddle of rainwater before I was safely ensconced and belted in besides my Sir Gallahad. Then came the hated hot flush, then came the sticking of the tongue to the roof of the mouth, my brain swam “how are you getting on with your job?” he asked “alright I suppose”…oh why did I have to sound so lame? “is everybody treating you ok?” … “alright I suppose…” I squirmed uncomfortably and fell into silence as my brain grasped frantically for something to say anything “it’s raining” was the only gem of information I managed to come up with….and lapsed back into miserable silence. I covertly stole a glance at him, boy he was more handsome than I had thought, he was about mid twenties I guessed [he was 24] with chestnut hair and strong but boyish facial features he turned suddenly and caught me gawping at him, he blushed I went as red as a beetroot and we were in town and it was my dropping off point. I managed to unbuckle and scrambled out with all the elegance and gainliness of newly foaled donkey I thanked him, hoping somehow that my eyes conveyed something of my feelings, he said ” maybe I’ll see you again sometime” he said it with the eyes of the dove and he was gone, my heart went after him. 

QUAINT WAYS

Quaint ways

So summer turned into high summer and romance turned to love and by the time winter came I was deeply in love because of course a lift into town after the days work was assured from that time forwards and from such tiny acorns do mighty oak trees grow but that all is another story and much too big to tell here even assumng anybody wished to know .

But my days as a schoolie on “work experience” drew to a close, for the short time of six weeks I had learned an awful lot, not all of it work related but in a way life related is work related too.

On my last day everything was ”the last time I’ll be doing this” the last setting up rooms for management meetings, the last making up lunch trays and delivering them the last preparing the canteen for lunch and above all the last pots and pans to be scrubbed and scraped, soaked and scrubbed and scraped some more. Then just as I was looking forward to my last tea break [a most happy last] unbelievably a phone call came “could two members of the catering department please report to the management conference centre, I tried to duck down behind the wall that divided potwash from pantry - too late for Louise’s sharp eyes had spotted me    “come on .. she said..it might not be much” her words turned out to be prescient for it was not much, indeed it was nothing at all, the room was empty and clear there was nothing doing but “we’d better hang on a bit and see if anybody turns up” Louise said. What a bummer everyone else would be tucking into scones and cakes and coffee and we were stuck up here twiddling our thumbs, it was a chance to share with Louise some of the plans I had for my life once school was finally over “one thing you can be sure of…I said…. I am never, ever gonna go into catering” we had a good laugh. Strange how we had become good friends over the weeks.

Right “come on…. said Louise  …. there’s nothing happening here” so back we traipsed to the kitchen “now that tea break was over with” I observed gloomily. When we got back to the kitchen everyone had done a bunk, it was like a ghost town with not a soul to be seen “that’s funny” said Louise, I trailed behind her forlornly as she traversed the length of the canteen, the canteen was in two sections with the management section curtained off and around the corner, as we reached this point Louise took my arm and rather rudely and shockingly I thought propelled me through the curtain  and a great cheer went up with clapping and there they all were the rascals, they had decided to give me a little send off. the tables were laid with bottles of wine and glasses and plates of “polite” sandwiches and there were cakes and biscuits. my hands went to my face with surprise as the second chef who was in charge that day called everyone to attention ” Susanne ….said he… we just wanted you to know that we’ve enjoyed having you around….etc” and so I got a little send off, so quaint. But I still am friends with some of them and well maybe I don’t see them so often but every now and then I’ll get a phone call or I’ll write Louise and Doris a little letter which they share with any of the staff that are still working there.