Ode to the DMO (our hero)

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Things come to a screeching halt without you….”dish machine operator”. AKA the dishwasher. Without sparkling clean glasses, plates and utensils we can’t serve shit. Without clean sauté pans, bowls, tongs, pots and spatulas we can’t do jack. We need you to show up and put out like no other (bitch) on our crew. And you do…time and time again. You are our hero. It’s a shitty, sweaty thankless job that most of us have done at one time or another. We know it sucks and we love you for every sick gnarly shift you finish without going postal or strangling a cologne infested server for bombing you with sludge coated silverware.

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When we scream your name and you willingly scurry on the line–dodging red hot pans, clattering plates, our whirling knives, our twirling battle moves, you show us that you are the toughest bad ass we know. You bring plates, pans, chickens, potatoes what ever….you are there. Our ammunition guy. Our back up. Our backbone. We can’t stand up with you.

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Kitchens are dangerous and you’re usually the first guy to figure that out. We burn you: hot pans dumped in your “pit” with maybe a mumbled warning. We cut you: glass in the trash again?! A wooden skewer through the hand? Wtf people. knives in the sink?!? I know you want to kill us. Many many times I have taken you bleeding in my car to the ER. God I’m sorry. That slicer just got sharpened….and you were sleepy….man that was gory. What a big bunch of douche bags we can be…Putting you in danger like that. I know all you’re thinking when you’re getting stitches is “I want to get back to work or don’t let me miss work”. Or maybe your thinking…thank fucking god I can rest….it takes blood to make you stop working for just a moment. Which is insane but I respect you for that and so much more.

You come from far away usually and a friend somehow gets you in here thinking this is a good opportunity. An opportunity to get your ass kicked day after day. But also a chance to jump on a team (Americans came up with that bullshit) yeah! Be part of a bloody brutal battle night after night. Wait….who the fuck would want to do that?! Some say you must be crazy (lots really are certifiable) but I know you just need a place, a home away from home. Can’t speak the language? That’s ok we can just figure it out. No idea what the hell these white bitches are saying when they are smiling at you with that hint of hostility? Fuck em. You’re with us and we love you. You are doing what we can’t. The hardest most back-breaking job in the kitchen. You are doing what we won’t…the slimiest, dirtiest, grease fest shit job ever invented. Just thinking about it makes me want to hurl. You’re a saint.

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You rarely complain. Well at least not to me. We stack so much on you. Hey, can you unload a pallet of apple wood?! Hey, can you put the orders away? Hey, can you deal with toxic chemicals every hour of every day? Oh and would you please load and unload the rotisserie with chickens, prime rib and the like. Hey, then sweep and mop the entire kitchen. Wait….I hear someone screaming your name….

DMO you’re our hero.

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~ by abmccune on February 9, 2013.

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