I think I'm coming down with Stockholm Syndrome and I don't think Vitamin C is going to help with this one.
I started making jokes with the S-C this afternoon, discussed the football - even pretending I could give a shit about it - and, at one point, made a pointed remark against young Cyril.
Which is more worrying. The culture of bullying made me actually shout at the S-C yesterday, when he engueuled me because the chef engueules him for things he hasn't done.
"Both you and he are always bollocking me for things I haven't done," I told him. "The chef bollocks you, you bollock me and none of it's down to me! That's how life is here!"
I seemed to actually give him pause for thought, because instead of just shouting at me he said, "Really? Do you think so?" And since then he's actually been quite nice to me, asking me to do things rather than shouting and asking my why I haven't already done them.
So I found myself feeling ultimately quite depressed this afternoon when I realised this, and that I've started to fall victim to whatever the kitchen equivalent of Stockholm Syndrome is - Plonge Syndrome or something, perhaps.
But yesterday I did refuse to pass on a bollocking to young Cyril who had, in fact, caused me a lot of grief. He'd done the mise en place for the self-service cafeteria which I look after at lunchtime; or rather, he put together the trays of salads, puddings, cheeses and so on and I did the mise. However, he'd done no new puddings, no new cheeses and some pretty ropey salads.
So as I was sorting all this out, trying to bring out the hot dishes and do my other work too Chef found me in the middle of it with plates and trays and salads all over the counter - and punters already arriving. Now, if I'd been him I'd have plunged in, scraped together some desserts, smiled at the punters and gone and pulled the hot plates out of the oven.
Instead, he pulled me aside and bollocked me for the state of the counter. Who, he asked, is responsible for this? I told him I didn't know but thought that Cyril had done the trays that morning. So off he marched and I heard him bollocking the young lad, including the memorable scream, "You must reply to me when I'm talking to you!" Memorable because replies are the one thing he doesn't want to hear and, if you do start saying something, he'll hop from foot to foot with his hand in the air as if he were a schoolkid trying to attract teacher's attention.
So then Chef bollocked the S-C for not looking over the trays that morning and then the S-C came to bollock me for not putting them right sooner. Which is when I told him that bollockings for no good reason were a way of life here and I was surpised he wasn't used to it.
"Right," he finished, "so now you can go and engueule Cyril for dropping you in the shit."
I refused and said it wasn't my place to do that, that Cyril had only been in the job for three days and I remember very clearly, from just five weeks ago, how bloody hard it is to remember everything you're expected to do.
Then over lunch I said to Cyril, "I understand Chef may have mentioned to you how to improve the mise en place for the self?" He had, Cyril replied. "Cool," I said, and left it at that. I felt quite brave.
And then today I let myself down by moaning to the S-C that Cyril had only laid out 20 desserts for 35 punters. I felt ashamed the moment I'd said it, but it was too late. And then the S-C said that was absolutely fine! What a wanker, I'm sure they're all really called Kafka and/or the place is lined with hidden cameras and I'll be the star of an hilariously stupid "How idiots fall down in kitchens" TV reality show any day now.
This evening I went to see another restaurant, Alexandre near the airport at Garons; just as posh as last week's place but, this time, the person I'd booked to see didn't actually bother turning up. Which is stupid, because I happen to know their last plongeur lasted less than a month and they really badly need a new one.
I left my CV but don't expect to be working there any time soon. And there's also the problem that the restaurant is a good 50 kms from either home or Avignon, so what would I do during the shift break from about 15 heures to 19 heures? Snooze in the car?
So all in all I was a bit down this evening, until Marie cheered me up of course.
I'm distressed that I'm enjoying the actual work part of the job, and think I'm not bad at it either - certainly better than anyone else who's been doing what I do. But also pissed that the two trainees get all the attention and opportunities to e.g. learn how to filet the salmon or the pork. And, of course, mightily pissed that I get to spend half of every day driving a fucking delivery van.
Not that there's anything wrong with that as a profession, I happen to know personally at least one person who enjoys it mightily. It's just not why I myself took a job working in a kitchen.
Still. Worse things happen at sea.
Hmm. Wonder if I could get a job on a cruise liner?
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