We were a Ticking Bomb [On Hold]

11 - Love Is Blind, And Retarded

It's funny how sometimes when people ask me how John and I came to be, I struggle to remember it. It's not that I don't know, but more like I've suppressed some of those memories, because the happiness I felt back then, it's something that I struggle to come to terms with. It's something that is not easy to remember, because it fucking hurts so much. We were so fucking happy. What happened to us? How did we get to where we are now? How did we derrail so badly?

Well, I guess that's exactly what I'm trying to get to the bottom of by writing this. So, let's get back into it. Let's go back to the romance blinded, stupidly enamoured Sally. Let's go back, and hope I come out of this in one piece.

After the brief encounter we had in the kitchen, something shifted between us. I never asked John what it was, what happened, or why he thinks things shifted the way they did. But it was like we started to slowly gravitate towards each other, getting closer and closer without even being aware of it. John started showing a more relaxed side of himself, one that drove me crazy in so many ways.

I guess it was all thanks to the fact that he had started working in the kitchen, and that place, it almost seemed to lighten his mood. I know now why that was, but I better get my story straight, and go in chronological order.

Two weeks after the party, John started working in the kitchen as a junior larder chef in training. Which is the same to say, a baby chef; he was barely over the kitchen assistant position that I had. He worked a mixture of morning and night shifts, usually starting work at 2pm, which at first, sucked for me as I was done by 3pm and was barely seeing him. But by then, I knew my luck. The stars were set on making us collide, so a week into John's training as a chef, one of the night time kitchen assistants quit the job, and the other one broke a leg. I'm not shitting you, I swear that's just my luck.

This meant Chef came to me one morning begging me to work the night shift, because he was desperate for some help. Of course, retarded-love-struck-Sally said yes.

And that is how I went from working 8 hours a day, to working over 12 hours at least 3 days a week. I kept my morning shifts on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, and worked doubles on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays when the kitchen was busiest.

I thought the mornings were hectic, but I was so wrong. Mornings inside the kitchen were quiet, only a few staff around and a little chill music in the background. But at night time... I still remember the first service like it was yesterday. I arrived back at 6pm, tired but ready for work after drinking 3 coffees in a few hours. As I walked through the back door, the heat hit me in the face like a slap. And the noise... pans clattering around, people yelling orders right and left, Chef calling orders loudly, and the whole kitchen replying in unison.

"Yes, chef!"

It was hectic, it was loud, it was hot, it was amazing!

I was dragged into this atmosphere, and it was like having it wash over me, waking me up and making me want to run around like an excited puppy. I could do this. Damn, I was born for the job.

"Hello everybody!" I yelled as I walked towards the cleaning area, tying my hair into a high pony.

"Thank God you're here Sal," Chef yelled from across the hall. "That kid is slow! Show him the ropes, please! We need fucking pans, NOW!"

I reached my area, threw an apron over my head and looked at the scared kid that was doing the dishes sloppily. He had crazy curly hair, and was about my height. And poor kid, he looked terrified.

"Don't worry," I said to him. "It gets easier by the day. I'm Sal, nice to meet you. Now, do you know where things go?"

"Kind of, ot's my third shift. I'm Alex, by the way."

"Okay, I wash, you put things away, come on!"

He moved to the right and started putting away the few clean dishes as I rushed to gather all the pans I could find scattered across the bench. I washed them all as fast as I could, and passed them over to Alex to oil them.

"Hurry, take them to Chef."

I ran the back of my arm through my already sweaty forehead, and looked at the bench.

It was a total wreck.

Things were piled up precariously, and dangerously, and there was so much shit on the bench, I couldn't even see the bench itself. I started working fast, piling all the plates on one corner, pots on another, throwing the cups on a soapy bucket and replacing the cutlery bin for an empty one as I left the full one under the bench. That could wait.

"I'm impressed."

I looked up, my hands still moving like crazy around the bench while I made room for all the plates that kept coming in non-stop. John was grinning at me from the other side of the bench as he was mixing up a salad. It was like we were working on the same bench, only a little short wall dividing our sections.

"I'm offended," I replied.

"Why would you be? I just complimented you. SALAD FOR TABLE 25 READY, CHEF!"

"Because your compliment implied you thought I wouldn't be good at my job."

"I need more black plates!" Marco yelled from across the hall.

"Coming!" I yelled back, and grabbed all the black plates and put them into the sink.

I sprayed them with the hose with one hand as I lay them on the trays with the other, and pushed the tray into the dishwasher once it was ready.

"Plates coming in 60 seconds!" I yelled as I looked up. Marco caught my eyes for half a second, and winked at me.

I kept on washing, the bench emptying fast, but refilling almost as fast. I used to think my morning went by pretty quickly, but by the time I looked at my watch, it was already 11pm, service was done, and we were starting to clean up the kitchen.

"Sal," Chef came over to me as I was still washing, scrubbing a pot that was a bit burned on the bottom. "Clock out and head home, you have a long day tomorrow."

I looked up at him, surprised. I had heard everybody raving about how good Chef actually was, but all I've seen so far, had been a moody big bloke that was always yelling orders.

"You sure, Chef? I can just finish some of this up before I go."

"Sure as hell, I need you fresh tomorrow, it will be even busier. Now go, sleep."

"Thank you so much." I took my gloves and apron off, and was surprised to see Chef grab the hose and start washing dishes. Say, what? I have to say this, I take my hat off for that man. He was moody as hell, he scared the shit out of me most of the time, but he knew that being a boss was about being a leader, about pushing from the front line.

As I walked out, I caught a few of the chefs having a smoke outside, John in between them.

"Thanks so much for coming, Sal," A guy named Elliot said to me.

"Yes, thank you Sal, you saved us!" Another one quipped.

As every chef thanked me, my eyes finally landed on John's, and I could see appreciation on his face as he half smiled at me, looking tired and sweaty.

"I'll see you all tomorrow," I grabbed my bike and pushed it out onto the street.

"Sleep well, Sal." They all yelled in unison, and in that moment, my heart melted for the team. I had never in my life known what it felt like to be appreciated like that, to be a part of something bigger than myself.

I biked back home that night with the biggest smile plastered on my face, and dropped onto my bed feeling exhausted, but exhilarated at the same time.

Life was good, I was happy... I was stupidly in love.