The Job Doesn’t Suck As Much As You Do

(When I first start working in my kitchen, I am the first female cook they’ve hired in several years, and younger than most of my coworkers by at least ten years. At first they are afraid of offending me or behaving too brash for the “little girl” in the kitchen. They try to do a lot of the “heavy” work for me and tone down their language a lot or otherwise became completely silent when I arrive, but by the end of the second week I prove that I am just as strong an employee as they are and that their crude language generally doesn’t bother me because it is all in jest. On this particular day I have made a point to one of the guys that he doesn’t need to help me lift a heavy piece of equipment because I’m “just as much a man as he is,” and the running gag of the day becomes that I announce “suck my d*ck” instead of “heard” or “echo” whenever a coworker made a request.)

Coworker #1: “[My Name], can I get a side of sour cream?”

Me: “Suck my d*ck!” *I put sour cream in the serve window*

Coworker #2: “Hey, hon, I need a refill on chicken breast.”

Me: “Suck my d*ck!” *I run to the cooler to get chicken*

Coworker #3: “Fries coming your way!”

Me: “Suuuuuuuuuuuuuck my d*********ck!”

Voice Behind Me: “[My Name], can you portion broccoli for dinner, please?”

Me: *without turning around* “Suck my d*ck!”

(I turn around and instead of a coworker, it is my boss, the kitchen manager, standing next to HIS boss the DISTRICT MANAGER.)

Kitchen Manager: “Uh, what?”

Me: “I mean, suck my d*ck, SIR!”

Kitchen Manager: “Oh… Okay, then.”

(I ran off to portion broccoli, red in the face. From the fridge I hear my kitchen manager.)

Kitchen Manager: *to District Manager* “Yeah, I was worried, too, but she’s starting to fit in perfectly.”