Bye Bye death labia: The end of a glittering catering career

By some bizarre quirk of fate, I to avoided the firing fanny that was gunning for me at my kitchen job and managed to give my notice, work it all and get my last paycheck! These may seem like given events for normal jobs but anything can happen in the wacky world of kitchen portering. Although I can't say I miss the rancid bins, 12 hour days, 6 hour stints standing with no break, getting hit with hot plates and being called a stupid Irish twat with a regularity that I can't say I was pleased with (i.e. more than once), I do miss the humour of the kitchen. In these shit jobs you do have to laugh at everything, cliched as it sounds. Whenever need for a 'butternut squash' was mentioned, I always had to say in the manner of some decrepit old man* 'oooh don't squash my butter-nuts' no I can't stop saying it to myself and giggling. You may think that kitchen's run on skill and percision but they actually run on swearing, very very sugary tea, bacon sandwiches, burning yourself repeatedly, flirting and pounding pounding techno music. I did learn to cook a bit better and daydream of having a nice kitchen and some kick-ass cooking equipment someday. I also met some of the best, most-hard-working people I've ever encountered and have new hatred for rude costumers who take the piss of waiting staff and now tip a lot more, so all in all--apart the bhroncitis and the working every single day-- not a bad time. See below for pics of our staff party, bowling and eating were involved somewhere but I mostly remember/misremember the 12 hours of drinking.

*Not much of a stretch impression wise as this is what I am.