Burnt Out: The Incidents (Part II)

Friday's chisme for paid readers. In this installment, things at the bakery get worse.

Hello again, fellow rabblerousers.

Welcome back to Burnt Out, a three-part personal essay on the nasty little bits of the service industry — the wet, rubbery scum underneath the mat in the dish room, so to speak. Hopefully I timed it right and this installment is long enough to read on your smoke break.

Why am I telling this story? Partially because I can’t afford proper therapy, and writing is cathartic. Also partially because folks in the comments section will tell you that trauma in kitchens doesn’t exist, that if you can’t hack it in the kitchen, you must just suck at your job. Bonus points for using the word ‘snowflake’ in there, or something similar.