Well, it’s official — I will never be a hand model. Not that I really wanted that anyway, but random people had told me from time to time that my hands would be great for jewelry ads and whatnot. But after this second week, my forearms and hands are marred with oil splatter burns, battle scars to remind me of tonight’s crazy dinner service.
I cooked for the first half of service while my station partner plated dishes and we switched halfway through. It turned out to be pretty fair because we each had to power through an influx of tickets and dig ourselves out of the weeds. I started breaking a sweat from the heat of the plancha and just from moving so quickly. Despite the burns that I was racking up, I just had to keep going and tough it out, no time to pause and run cold water over them. Adrenaline is magical.
I was closing tonight as well and it was not until the slow drag of late night that I finally had time to think about and process the pain. It sucked. After I showered, I sat in bed for literally ten minutes spot-treating my arms with q-tips and a tube of burn cream that Honey Bunny had picked up for me after a particularly bad incident back at the old restaurant.
Thankfully, my weekend is here, although this week felt a bit short anyway since I worked only four days (after working 6 the week before). I am looking forward to spending time with Honey Bunny and my skin could definitely use some well-deserved recuperation.