I don't know where the infinite fountain of hope springs from within to believe at every corner the daily drudge is about to change, and I'll stumble upon the path of undiminishing happiness (minus the occasional just plain bad day). All I can say is, thank God for that pretty flow. The past few weeks of baking school has been... not nice... and at times, I've been stressed, insecure, threatened and miserable. This seems to be my eponymical story.
Baking school was supposed to be the path. Not that I thought it was going to be easy at all. I was half scared to death that after another leap in finance, faith, and dare I say fantasy?, that it would end up being a place I didn't belong. All I can say in my defense- the seed of inspiration was as real as anything else, my desperation for a future was at crisis levels and my intent was to keep with it through any manner of travails. Goddamn, that last part hasn't changed! Nor has the middle, nor the beginning. I thought this through as far as the terrain inside would allow. It's that pesky hope business!
I could not have known before applying that one only goes to culinary school to step immediately into supervisor ranks. One of my chefs actually said, "...because none of you would be here unless you wanted to be a manager..." I missed that cue during the application spiel. That is, there was no cue. To just cook, and cook forever, with the same expectations, the same hours, the same, you just walk into any restaurant/bakery on the planet and ask if they are applying. Of course, I could never imagine walking into an establishment saying "I know nothing about baking or pastry, but I want to work here- will you please hire me?" No. In the world I come from, you apply for jobs you are qualified for, and how in the world can I make cream puffs for a living when I was never trained to make cream puffs? That was misconception number one.
Number two? Since the moment I walked into class, I've been spoken to like I'll be in a restaurant kitchen for the rest of my life. I don''t want to STEP FOOT in a restaurant kitchen. It's stating the obvious, but I'm not good with stress. I knew before I got into school that food service is a constant-pressure situation. But there are degrees. I imagined myself working fast and steady rolling dough, mixing fillings, icing cakes, surrounded by people but half left to myself to do my business. Expectations for safety, quality and speed would be absolute; however, I felt once I mastered my trade, the pressure would be within my capability. Not like the kitchen nightmare in a restaurant, which is full of men using fowl language and joking about sexandwhatnot, feeding 300 people a night full meals that have to be hot and sent out within 15 minutes of being ordered, with three different people screaming at you. I never want to work in that situation, yet it makes me a total fool to make such a claim when at culinary school and I daren't repeat the fact to a living soul.
Then there's the whole manager position that since day one I've been primmed and prepped for... No joke. I walked in the first day to forty pages about management theory and an assignment to make a business plan. I don't want that job, not to mention I'm not suited for it. It's like the candle keyholder times 20. The foodservice industry has a "total quality" management, which means that you will do anything to make your employees feel good, inspired, appreciated, because the quality will be higher, therefore the customers will be happier. I'm not even in that position and I'm experiencing deja vu. At the candle store, I was blamed for everything the company did wrong by the customers and all the behavior the company didn't like from the customers (they didn't want to spend more, they didn't want help shopping, they didn't want to give their phone number). I wasn't a human being with hobbies, feelings or good intentions. Basic courtesy was totally unnecessary toward me. While I think it's an improvement that the employees are now considered human, they are super human and -yet again- I, the manager, will be subhuman. No one cares about my need for fulfillement. I'm just the person in the middle for two sides to blame when the opposite side isn't performing. Shit.
On top of that, I'm not the people person necessary to be a manager. The textbook and chefs go back and forth with statements, on one hand, management needs to be learned, on the other, some peopl are not cut out for it. I can't help but feel they're addressing me and don't know it. The worst thing about management is that you don't cook very much. You walk around with a clipboard chipping in when necessary. Why would I go to cooking school for that?! I've spent the last few weeks trying to keep the secret that I don't seem to belong there.
I reiterate, however: the seed of my inspiration is as real as anything, my desperation is still at levels of crisis and my intent is to keep with it through any manner of travails. I'm an imaginative mind. I don't rate high on experience or common sense, but I'm smart as hell in a theoretical way, and at moments even smarter than that. I can be wherever the hell I want to be as long as there isn't some court order against me. I don't need anybody in particular to help me make my way because the way never ceases and if I'm doing something, I'm getting somewhere. If I fuck up, be on my way. Why dwell in a fuck up?
I know I can do this in some out-of-the-ordinary way or another.
Phew, thanks for listening. That's been building on my chest for weeks.
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