Speaking of Firsts...

“Do you like frogs?”  My hand, held extended and waiting toward the executive chef standing before me, slowly fell back down to my side. His eyes flicked toward me for only the briefest visual acknowledgement before returning to the two tickets dangling in front of him. My interview had just taken an unexpected turn.

“Well, yeah, I suppose.  Alive, and cooked.” I offered an awkward smile, but like my hand, it fell away unseen.

“Good, I’ve got three in my office.  You mind feeding them for me?”  A second glance up, this time awaiting a response.  The woman behind me, the pastry chef actually conducting my interview, forced out a laugh as she took my arm.

“Come on,” she said, chuckling as she turned me around, “I’ll show you where the office is.”

As we rounded the corner and made our way down stairs, something about that whole meeting left me feeling uneasy.  The inordinate amount of attention he paid the three plates of food before him; her nervous laughter and quick departure; the complete lack of interaction between the two of them; it felt as though I was a small child caught in between two bickering parents, their former affection for one other having long since completed a downward spiral into mutual hatred.  Within a year, I would come to fully understand the tension I felt between the two of them, but at the moment I was completely bewildered. 

Now, I didn’t realize it at the time, but I had just been introduced to the very first douchebag of my professional career.  Besides the aforementioned awkwardness, there were warning signs aplenty: the dismissive and condescending demeanor; the $90 department store slacks; the custom made waist-to-ankle apron; the fact that he informed me, later on in my interview, that his pants cost $90 and his aprons are custom made; a plethora of red flags that, in my ignorance, I passed off as simple eccentricities I thought inherent to the industry. I was young and stupid, ok? My rose-colored lenses of idealism had yet to be marred by experience.

Thinking back, it’s funny how my feelings toward that place have evolved over the years:  my blind ignorance and optimism when I started; my growing disappointment as the gap between my idealism and reality began to grow; my frustration as I realized just how ignorant I had been; and my relief when I finally gave my notice.  And now, finally, I am simply wistful.  That place in the heart of the city, my internship-turned-first-job right out of culinary school, to this day remains the best damn job I’ve ever had~

~ZtB